HILARIOUS CONSEQUENCES

KNOCK KNOCK...IT'S ME...( The top 8 Knock Knock jokes bluetoothed from my brains)

2012-03-12T04:59:00.000-07:00

Knock Knock It's Me is a show the critics are calling "utterly formulaic" which is great because it's good to stick to a trusted framework that works.
I haven't fully worked this show out, but I figured when the Edinburgh Festival hits, I could travel up there knock on random doors and deliver these jokes guerilla style. Alternatively if you want to buy the rights to do it yourself and almost certainly guarantee winning the now Defunct Perrier Prize you can for just £1000...
1.
KNOCK KNOCK
Who's there?
NICK KNOCK
Is that your name?
YES
Doors open

2.

KNOCK KNOCK
Who's there
MEOW
Oh it's a Cat!
MEOW
How did you knock?

3.

KNOCK KNOCK
Who's there
A LESBIAN
A lesbian who?
THANKS FOR NOT ADHERING TO GENERAL STEREOTYPES AND ACKNOWLEDGING WE ARE ALL DIFFERENT
That's quite ok

4.

KNOCK KNOCK
Who's there?
TV LICENSE MAN
I'm not in
BUT I CAN HEAR YOU TALKING
That wasn't me

5.

KNOCK KNOCK
Who's there?
PIZZA DELIVERY
I didn't order a pizza
IT"S A PROMOTIONAL OFFER

6.

KNOCK KNOCK
who's there
GRIM
Grim who?
GRIM SMITH
Phew that was close!

7.

KNOCK KNOCK.
Who's there?
JUST COME TO READ YOUR METER
I ordered something a bit sexier than this.
OH NO, SHE"S BEHIND ME, I JUST NEED TO READ THE METER

KNOCK KNOCK
who's there
IT'S ME, I'M YOU
what am I doing out there?
I WAS HAVING AN OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE, NOW I'M LOCKED OUT

HYDE AND SIKH. THE WHOLE PART ONE.

2012-02-27T08:40:00.003-08:00

(illustrations by Grace Wilson http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/grace-wilson )

1.Hyde

It was not a good time to be alive. Hyde would stare at the moon and kick an imaginary can in frustration and rail against the world's injustice as the wind blew gently, indifferent to his torment. Once a few months back when particularly agitated, he missed the imaginary can and kicked the curb. That hurt pretty bad and in frustration Hyde pulled out his gun and tried to shoot the guilty leg. Failing to get a clean shot he arrested his leg and dragged it back to the station to throw it in a cell.

The times they were a changing, and Hyde was not willing to reset his Swatch. Even though his escapades with his own body had earned him a transfer from his home in New York to Rotherhithe, a residential district in inner southeast London (Google), he was literally five hours late for work everyday. As I say, he was not willing to reset his Swatch. Or accept the fact that he was in Rotherhithe. No one could tell Hyde what to do, he was a cop like they don’t make anymore. Ignorant, arrogant, misogynistic, he was all those things like the best of them, but Hyde wore a moustache too. It was a big one; it looked as if he had stapled a cat to his face. Somehow this didn’t deter the woman in bars who would swarm to him like flies to shit. Sensitive souls looking for a woman to share their lives with would sit in silent awe and watch as Hyde told woman after woman night after night that they meant less to him than a Hot Dog. And they cried into their ales as every night Hyde vacated the premises armed with ladies. His self-assurance served him well. This was a man who was angry at a world, which was making the printed word redundant, whilst gleefully admitting that he had not once wasted his time reading a book.

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2. Lunch

The minute hand on the clock hit the hour mark. “Right boys, it’s lunch,” said the Constable without missing a beat. A gentle breeze filled the room as the policemen started shuffling their papers in unison. The waft from the papers suddenly blew back the other way as the doors swung open aggressively. "What’s up with you fuckers, you always start the day with lunch?” Hyde was in the building. “ It’s one o’clock Hyde, you’re five hours late…again!” retorted the Constable. “Anyone ever tell you lunch is for wimps?” Hyde snapped back while deliberately looking at a person he wasn’t talking to. “You told us that yesterday when you came in late …again!” said one of the officers, patting the Constable on the back. The chief wanted to give him a high five, but he was scared to attempt one in front of an American. Especially such an intensely angry and unreasonable one. “ You have to accept it Hyde, this isn't New York anymore, you’re in Rotherhithe”. As the Constable spoke, Hyde placed a cigarette in each of his two ears and screamed “aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh”

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“ I want you to meet Baljinder Singh, he’s going to be your partner for the rest of your stay.” The Constable pointed at an unassuming man sitting at a desk in a far corner of the suddenly empty room. “Now you'll have to excuse me. There’s a ham sandwich with my name on it”.

“Hold up! Ball Digger who?” Hyde pulled out the cigarettes from his ears and pointed one of them at Baljinder. “What is that?”

“That is your new partner, I want you to introduce yourself.”

“Now chief, you know I’m a plain talking guy, I just say what I see. No beating about the bush.”

“Yes I’ve noticed,” said the Constable, taking one step closer to his ham sandwich.

“Well, that’s a coloured guy, and he’s not even black. Do you know how confusing this is for a white American stereotype?”

While looking into Hyde’s perplexed face, the Constable began to slowly slide his feet towards the door. He didn’t respond to Hyde’s question, he wasn’t sure how to. Hyde looked more and more perplexed as he watched the Constable try to leave the office without actually taking any steps. Who did he think he was dealing with here? He was a cop from New York! At the bare minimum he was trained to tell when somebody was getting further away, even if they were doing it slowly and without walking. In New York, a sense of perspective was one of the first things they taught you at Cop School, and Hyde’s senses were telling him that the Constable had a ham sandwich with his name on it.

Hyde walked towards the desk the silent man was sitting at and kicked away the empty chair in front of him. He faced his new partner, and made the speech mark gesture with his fingers, even though he said the word partner in his head. “Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t like you, never will.”

“Hi, I’m Baljinder.”

“Listen Ball digger, we have to learn to live with each other and I don’t like learning so this won’t be easy”. Baljinder nodded warily. “I understand,” he said.

“Whaddya hiding under there?” Hyde pointed at Baljinder’s turban. “Is it crack? You asshole!”

“Hey come on! I’m a policeman.”

“It’s a shame,” said Hyde. “Because you look more like a pineapple."

3. The Name

It had been troubling Baljinder since they first met that Hyde thought his name was Ball Digger. He had initially let it go, and put it down to difficulties in acclimatising to new cultures. But where is the cut off point after which your name has been changed for good? Surely when someone has called you Ball Digger five times without being corrected, then it’s your own fault for any confusion.

“Hey Ball Digger, whaddya doing?” That was number four.

“I am waiting for the phone to ring” Baljinder replied.

“Ball Digger, let’s go! We can’t just sit and wait for the phone to ring!” Hyde got up and kicked his chair across the room. That was number five.

“I would just like to say Hyde, that my name is in fact not Ball Digger. It is Baljinder, Baljinder Singh.”

“Sorry dude. I can’t say that”

“But that is my name, Baljinder”.

“Ba..a..ll…d.d.d.iiiig…Yeah sorry. I just can’t do it.”

“Look it’s easy, I’ll spell it out on this piece of paper for you,” Baljinder wrote his name in big capital letters and held the piece of paper up for Hyde.


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“See it’s funny, cos if I take all those letters individually I can say them fine, but you put them in that weird jumbled order, and it’s Ball Digger”.

“Hyde, Ball Digger, we have a case for you!” The Constable walked in with an air of excitement and anxiety. “About fucking time chief,” Hyde said while playing a sweet air drum roll on a three hundred and sixty degree kit. When he was at one hundred and eighty degrees, Baljinder took the opportunity to speak. “Constable, my name is Baljinder. You know that!... I’m not 'Ball Digger'.”

“Can you believe this guy?” Hyde laughed, pointing directly at his turban. “Every one calls him Ball Digger and he just won’t accept it’s his name, what a dick.”

“Maybe it’s best if you just go with Ball Digger,” the Constable said in a soft reassuring voice. “I’m thinking there are people reading this and the guy writing it has to keep checking he got the spelling right, which is probably a hassle, and then no one knows how to say it properly and it becomes that annoying name they just mumble in their head every time. I mean you remember reading books right? ”

“Yeah.” Balljinder was being pummelled into submission. “So you’re saying this is going to be a book?” He questioned.

“It might be.”

“Movie tie-ins?”

“Who knows”?

“But the writer doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen, he’s just writing as he goes, probably with his trousers down.”

“Look” the Constable agreed, “I know what you’re saying but we will just have to see. In the meantime there is a man in Rotherhithe and he’s fallen over. Do I have a team for this?” The Constable raised his voice to generate some enthusiasm for the task.

“I’ll get my keys…Let’s go” said Ball Digger.

4. On The Way To Finding The Man Who Fell Over

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Ball Digger drove at a leisurely pace. Whenever he got a chance to get out the office he would embrace it, soaking up Rotherhithe’s modern housing and commercial facilities with a nostalgia others were yet to feel. It was projected nostalgia. Gazing at the Brunel Engine House he could almost shed a tear. Though not today, not with Hyde in the passenger seat. Today Ball Digger hid his love for his surroundings so as to not show weakness. He was distracted enough however to fail to notice Hyde, not being one to take a back seat, reaching an arm over and placing one hand on the steering wheel. But it didn’t really bother Ball Digger. He would rather Hyde just felt comfortable.

“You know the name Rotherhithe derives from Anglo- Saxon times? Rother was for sailor and Hithe meant haven… A sailor's haven!” Ball Digger sighed as they drove past a TK Max. “Yeah.” Hyde did not sound very impressed. “Well I come from New York City, my friend. New stands for fucking and York stands for cool and city…that just stand for city…Fucking Cool City.”

“You miss your home don’t you?” said Ball Digger, as their hands touched almost intimately on the wheel.

“Fuck you Ball Digger, I’m Hyde. Hyde don’t miss anything …not even TV shows he doesn’t want to watch. You get me?”

“That’s a different kind of missing.”

Hyde let go of the wheel. “You know, if you drive any slower chances are the guy who fell over will probably have stood up.”

Abruptly, Ball Digger stopped the car. “What the fuck ya playing at Ball Digger???” barked Hyde.

“Look, there!” As he spoke, Ball Digger exited the car and ran across the road, picked up a discarded item and raced back towards the car. He took a moment to drink in the residential district's balmy air, and looked carefully to his left and right before crossing.

“Look at this, it’s a pair of trousers, why would there be a pair of trousers in the middle of the road?" he screamed to Hyde, hurtling towards the car.

“What’s the waist on those?” asked Hyde, like he had seen this all before.

“34”

“DAMN.”

5. The Squirrel

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Ball Digger started the car and began the twelve-metre journey his Sat Nav was telling him he needed to go to reach his desired destination. The whole of the journey was filled with a deadly tension. There always seemed to be tension when Hyde was in company, but this time it felt deadly. Hyde was clearly angry that the trousers would not fit him. Ball Digger could hear him muttering something or other under his breath about his being cursed with a fast metabolism. Hyde was not a 34 waist, and no matter how many hot dogs he slid down his throat he could never catch up with the other fat American cops on the force. He had at times become the subject of ridicule for it, and looking at this pair of unfilled trousers only bought the haunting memories flooding back.

“We’re here” said Ball Digger as he slowed down the car moments after starting it up. The pair looked out in silence. There was no sign of a man on the floor, or a man who had once fallen, nor any sign of a man walking away after a fall, there was one sign and that sign said “Road Works Ahead” Hyde got out the car, “let me investigate” he said and slammed the car door shut. In one of his rare outbursts, or at least an outburst by Ball Digger standards he shouted back “Watch the Mazda!” Hyde looked around a bit, and then bent down and looked under the car. After thoroughly inspecting the space under the car he pulled himself back up to the window. “I don’t think there is anyone here”.

“No I was coming to that conclusion myself,” Ball Digger said nodding in solid agreement.

“Look there!” Gasped Ball Digger suddenly. “A squirrel!” Ball Digger could not resist a squirrel. “And look he has a nut awww”

“Hang on a minute!” said Hyde in a rare state of excitement; he rapidly shuffled through the pockets in all his clothes, which were five as he had forgotten to count the two on the back of his jeans. Eventually he yanked something out his jacket pocket. “I have some hazelnuts!” Hyde couldn’t resist a hazelnut. He ran like a child to within feet of the squirrel and placed the half eaten bag of nuts on the ground and ran back (again like a child).

“At least we can’t say this mission was a total waste of time,” said Hyde getting back in the car.

“You know it’s funny though” Said Ball Digger “ The man just disappeared without a trace” He turned to Hyde who had now fashioned his own turban out of the aloof trousers.

“I don’t think that’s very respectful” It was clear to Ball Digger the bonding that had happened over the squirrel was over. Hyde was back and overcompensating in his cruelty in fear of having shown a soft side. “We all shit you know” Ball Digger wasn’t sure why he said this, but he did.

“Fuck you Ball Digger,” said Hyde.” I’m thirsty, look there’s a Hooters let’s get a drink”

“But it’s only half past two”

“They do lattes”

6. The Hooters In Rotherhithe

“Wow Carpet!” Hyde seemed impressed. As a connoisseur of the Hooters establishment (he had been to two others In his hometown) he had never seen a carpeted Hooters. “Strange choice”.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting Hyde but this is Rotherhithe, we’re not animals” Hyde turned to Ball Digger dramatically and stared him in the eyes.

“We’re all animals, all of us,” he said through his teeth. “And turquoise, it IS a strange choice” Ball Digger took a look down.

“I suppose, I wouldn’t want to live with it, but for a couple of hours on an evening out it makes a change. It’s a bit like I’m walking on the ocean”

“What are you some kind of poet?”

“No” Ball Digger said out loud, almost defensively, but in his head he was saying yes. Through his late teens until the age of twenty-three you could have caught a younger Ball Digger sitting under many of Rotherhithe’s Medium sized trees armed with a pen and a pad struggling for couplets, which would bring him a sense of fulfillment. Or at least the attentions of a girl. Sitting under the trees observing the creatures of Rotherhithe going about their business it was here that Ball Digger developed his love for the Squirrel. He gave up his poetic tendencies when it became apparent to him only his mum was reading his work, and though she was once a girl, she was not the (once) girl whose attentions he was seeking. That girl only read text messages, and the poems did not read well in this format, and he did not know her name let alone have a number to send to. He chose the Police force thinking that if he could not touch her soul, at least he could protect her… And arrest her boyfriend.

“Mother fucking undercover poet” Hyde shook his head; he seemed to be getting angry.

“No I just said it was a bit like walking on the ocean”

“Who are you Jesus you’re walking on Hooters, reality check”. He snapped his fingers with the percussive thud of a coconut cracking.

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in, a couple of Sikhs” A big bosomed woman appeared from nowhere. It was difficult to describe the woman’s features because of the size of her breasts which had they been yellow could have been perfectly summed up in one word. Melons. Her greeting seemed unreasonably antagonistic considering Hyde and Ball Digger where not only the only potential customers in the building but also the only humans in the building , bar the strippers who seemed to be hiding.

“What’s a Sikh?” Hyde asked Ball Digger, as he did so he noticed his Turban and realized he still had the makeshift one fashioned out of the trousers on his head. He yanked it off quickly.

“I take it back,” said the melons. “The cat has dragged in one Sikh and one American”.

“Let’s get one thing straight, we didn’t get dragged in by no cat” Hyde seemed irritated with the constant references to be being dragged by a cat.

“What can I get ya boys?” asked melons whilst pretending to chew gum.

“Two lattes, and give us a menu”

“Are we eating?” Ball Digger said checking his Swatch.

“You’ve never been to Hooters have you?” Hyde laughed to himself. “You can’t go to Hooters and not eat the food, that would be like shitting in your own mouth”

It had come to Ball Diggers attention that Hyde definitely was not a poet. Or if he was he tried his damnedest to hide it.

The two policemen took their seats in the middle of the large empty Hooters. There was a strange atmosphere in the place, the turquoise carpet seemed to almost illuminate under the dim lighting. The tables matt’s were patterned with pictures of owls, which seemed to stare up at you in an intimidating way only fifty patterned owls could. Amidst the darkness there was some shuffling noises, something was going on behind the walls. Though the room was empty you would have to be an idiot to presume you were alone.

“This place is as dead as a Dormouse” Said Hyde looking around. Suddenly a voice was heard.

“Ya nooo whadda want yet?” Melons attitude to her job really stank. It seemed clear she lacked people skills and her accent kept changing which was confusing to the customers of which she had two. It was almost as if she was trying to hide something, over and over again, perhaps she was hiding multiple things. Either way she had the personality of a malfunctioning computer.

“I’ll just have a plate of Jalapenos” Hyde knew what he wanted. He didn’t even need the menu he’d asked for, he had decided when he pointed at the Hooters from inside the car that he would be getting a latte and a plate of Jalapenos. Melons noted his not using the menu to order and curled her lip.

“And what about you? Melons prodded Ball Digger with her finger.

“Oh, I’ll take a Ham sandwich”

“I didn’t think you’re kind ate pork” Hyde said through his teeth

“And what is my kind exactly?, I’m a policeman Hyde” Ball Digger said assertively into Hyde’s face. He then looked back up at Melons. “I’ll have a Ham sandwich please”

“Arr right me hearties” Melons said like a pirate and turned to leave.

“Hey” shouted Hyde at her while stroking his moustache. Melons stopped abruptly but didn’t turn around. “Where are all the strippers?”

“They will be out soon, they’re getting undressed”

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7. Steaming Cold Food That Tastes like shit

Hyde was an American and so he wasn’t going to say anything that would make him sound unsure of himself, but he really was not so sure what was going on in this Hooters. From the gleaming turquoise carpet to the owls staring up at him from what seemed like all angles he felt like someone was watching over him. It should be pointed out these were not sexy Hooters owls, these where old owls, who had the expressions of humans who had been defeated by the cities tawdry transport system. A pissed off owl does not make for a sexy atmosphere; hundreds of them make for an exceptionally unsexy one. The unease was heightened by what seemed like random puffs of cigarette smoke that had no owner.

“You can’t smoke in a public place,” said Ball Digger

“I know but I can’t see anyone here can you? I can’t just arrest smoke can I?”

“I heard you arrested your own leg, I presume you have the arrogance to arrest anything”

Yeah this Hooters was definitely under some sort of voodoo hex. Ball Digger whom he must have now known for the best part of two hours had begun acting like his petulant put upon wife, and what was confusing was he was accepting of his responsibility in making Ball Digger that way. He felt an over familiarity to Ball Digger and was beginning to feel bad for their crumbling relationship. Needing to get away from the nagging and sarcasm (for feeling bad and doing something about it are different chapters in a self help book) Hyde got up flashed his handcuffs and followed one of the balls of smoke. He was not going to turn down a challenge.

As he caught up with one of the balls he whipped out the cuffs but failed to ever get a hold on the smoke. “This is hard,” He said. It became harder as two plates of steaming food started to come towards him, making it hard to differentiate between the potentially guilty smoke and the innocent steam.

“You will never catch them, they are transient” From nowhere Melons appeared attached to the steaming plates. Hyde followed her back to the table. Hyde and Ball Digger looked at each other then back at the food that had been served to them. They were scared to verbalize their concerns, as they were also scared of Melons who was standing over them, but both thought to themselves why would steam emit from a bowl of Jalapenos and a ham sandwich. They silently began eating under Melons watchful eye. They did not look at each other or speak a word. Just silently they stared into their plates and ate, like children in a particularly strict boarding school.

As Ball Digger chewed on his sandwich with it’s grey ham and nothing else, he thought to himself about what Hyde had said, and decided Hyde was wrong. Going to Hooters and eating the food was pretty much as close to shitting in your own mouth as you could get, at least as close as Ball Digger was ever willing to get.

“I’m sorry could I see the chef?” Ball Digger could not take anymore; the food was so bad he was willing to take the wrath of Melons.

“Why?”

“I’m interested in how this sandwich was prepared”

“You guys are cops right?” Melons asked with her arms folded over her bosoms.

“That’s right Madam, that’s what we would be” Hyde would make for a terrible undercover cop for he was so keen to tell people he was a cop. As he spoke a number of Jalapenos fell out of his moustache. Ball Digger glared at him with the eyes of a pissed off owl. Hyde whispered to him in defense, “I’m sorry it tasted like shit, I might have a death wish, but I don’t want to die”.

“What you guys doing messing around here anyways, aren’t there men fallen over on the streets for you to help?”

“Initially we just came for lattes,” Ball Digger said politely

“Oh shit I forgot to make those, I’m so sorry” It didn’t really matter to the cops, coming in for lattes felt like a lifetime ago.

“We’re looking for a man,” Ball Digger said with some assurance. We think he’s missing his trousers.

“Wait, we haven’t talked about this” Hyde seemed irritated.

“Come on whose are these?” Ball Digger waved the stray trousers.

“Oooh that’s good” Hyde instantly understood Ball Diggers logic.

“We’re looking for a man with no pants on, we’re worried he might be in trouble” Hyde said getting up, and pulling down his own trousers. “I apologise we have no sketch artist with us or a pad or pen to attempt one, but he’s gonna look a little like this, have you seen this guy around?” Hyde was a bit of an exhibitionist, the thing he loved second to telling people he was a cop was having an excuse to pull down his trousers in public. For behind him Ball Digger was quietly sat with a pen and a pad.

“You’re asking someone in a strip joint if they have seen a half naked person? Mister half naked people are a dime a dozen here.”

“Lady, nothing in this place is a dime a dozen”

“I’ll go get the chef”, Melons seemed deflated, “And those lattes”.

Hyde sat back down with his trousers round his ankles, as they patiently waited for the chef and the lattes. Ball Digger stared at him disgusted by his decision not to pull up his trousers. As he stared a single Jalapeno fell from Hyde’s moustache into his underwear. Ball Digger chose to keep quiet about this, deciding that that would be Hyde’s punishment and surprise for a later date.

8. Introducing Tits

The Lattes actually looked pretty good. I suppose anything served after the atrocity experienced was going to be an improvement, and the Amoretti cookie was a nice touch. At least Ball Digger thought so. Hyde picked his off the saucer and flung it on the table with a slurred “ If there is one thing I can’t fucking stand it’s amaretto”. He almost looked like a sulky child deprived of a Jaffa Cake. That is exactly what he was. Since his transfer from New York to Rotherhithe Hyde had refused to adhere to the ways of his new home, but for the Jaffa Cake, which he could not deny, had worked his way into his heart. “ I mean it’s a drink made of nuts”, he was talking to himself now. Had there not been a complimentary cookie, none of this would be happening for he had not been expecting anything at all, hell he’d even stopped expecting the latte he had asked for. Life was simpler when he was not expecting anything at all. The world was out to get Hyde and it was really starting to tick him off. Ball digger was eating his cookie, he was unaware of what amaretto was and just enjoyed the crunchiness of the cookie. He took the one Hyde flung and placed it on his saucer.

Suddenly a creature seemed to be moving towards them, her figure becoming more and more apparent through the mist of mystery smoke. She was beautiful; she glided across the turquoise floor like a swan and was as white as one too, though she didn’t have an orange beak. Hyde didn’t want to admit it but as he sat there with his feet as wide apart as the trousers around his ankles would allow him to go, he thought to himself “It’s like she is walking on the ocean”. She was naked, except for an apron, which as she got nearer turned out to be one of those comedy aprons with a print of a naked body on them. Luckily for Hyde and Ball Digger the naked body was that of a woman’s and so no difficult questions were going to be asked of their sexuality. They were cops and they were straight. End of. She got to a few feet from the table; she was young and healthy and clearly did not eat the food from Hooters.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked in a sweet questioning tone.

Ball Digger dropped the second Amoretti biscuit into his Latte, he couldn’t speak. He had fallen in love. It didn’t happen to Ball Digger often, but when it did, it happened in a split second and the feeling would stay for life. It was as if from out of nowhere this one person who was yet to introduce herself had become the one his little world would revolve around. He felt embarrassed looking at his table which now had his dissected Ham Sandwich sprayed across it. Hyde was also embarrassed because he too had fallen in love, and he had noticed the mess Ball Digger had made on the table. His falling in love tended to be a little less long term and so for now he still had the use of his mouth. He chose to steer away from the “what the hell kind of cook do you think you are line of questioning” he had intended to open with.

“Listen Tits” Hyde said with confidence.

“How dare you call her that?” Ball Digger said.

“Oh it’s ok, my name is Tits” Tits pointed at a name badge which was pinned on the breast of her apron.

“Can I call you Tit for short” Hyde asked pretending to put a cigarette in his mouth, and making use of the pre existing smoke.

“No it’s Tits” Tits looked angry.

“We’re Cops, and we’re looking for a man, we thought you might be able to help. He’s probably trouser less, we didn’t have a sketch artist so consider me your visual aid”

“Did he have a Jalapeno in his pants?”

Hyde took a look down, but he didn’t buckle, he was a cocky asshole when he wanted to be. “We have a good reason to believe that may well be the case”

Ball Digger couldn’t believe he was going to talk himself out of the humiliation of having bits of food inside his trousers.

“I’m sorry officers I don’t see why you think I could be of any help I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen all day, I haven’t even got a window back there.”

“Is it hygienic to cook naked?” Hyde took an air puff.

“Don’t worry I have an apron”, she removed the apron to illustrate her two tiers of nudity. The real version was definitely better than the apron version, though the apron version was also good.

“Look there is no food on me”

She had somewhat missed Hyde’s point, but neither he nor Ball Digger had really heard a word she had said. Ball Digger had become so confused he started clapping for absolutely no reason. They were in awe.

Suddenly Ball Digger got a call on his mobile. “It’s the Constable”

“We better head back” Hyde coughed; he’d taken a heavy drag on his fake cigarette. “You’re going to need to come with us”

“Me? Why? I told you I don’t know anything,” She pleaded.

“Because the guy writing this doesn’t know where he is going with it, but he is desperate to move things out of the Hooters, he wasn’t planning on being here this long”.

“Someone’s actually writing this?” How exciting said Tits. “I always wanted to be a writer”

If Ball Digger was able to speak to her he would have shouted out his poetic aspirations, regardless of Hyde’s presence, but no sound would come from his open mouth.

“Yeah I was going to be a writer” Hyde said shaking his head, “I got taught by the best, Mr. Ernest Hemmingway, he gave me some great advice. He said Hyde just close your eyes and write what you see, and I did. Unfortunately when I opened my eyes I’d written half of it in my pad and half on the desk. I came back from the toilet to transcribe it and the Janitor had wiped the desk clean”

“That’s so sad”

Ball Digger could see Tits falling for Hyde.

“Hemmingway said a lot of great works were lost like that. I guess it’s Karma, they cleaned up my masterwork, now I clean up the streets…from crime, I’m not a street cleaner”

None of this was making any sense to Ball Digger but it was clearly working for Hyde and so in his head Ball Digger labeled Hyde a “Mother Fucking Asshole”.

9. Hyde, Ball Digger and Tits

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When Tits said she “just needed to get her stuff” she hadn’t made it clear she was in between homes and so her stuff would include a gramophone, four bin liners of clothing a wok and two kittens. It was as if Hyde and Ball Digger were going back to the station having won all the prizes on the conveyor belt on the Generation Game. Tits obviously being equivalent to what would have been the Jet Ski’s or Yacht, basically the star prize. At least this was the case through Ball Diggers eyes. The shapeless knitted jumpsuit she had chosen to put on, made her look like a Yeti, and though he could tell Hyde would probably still make sure he sealed the deal, he definitely wasn’t as interested as when she was naked. Hyde tried to discreetly turn the heating up in the car. “Phew for the middle of January this is one steaming day,” he said flapping the collar on his fur coat. He looked out the rear view window to see if he had tricked Tits into removing her clothes. Hyde definitely felt that things were better when Tits wasn’t wearing the knitted blob of an outfit. Ball Digger looked at Hyde as he tried to discreetly spy on her. He thought to himself if he could omit laser beams from his eyes at this moment he would have. Green beams that would singe the moustache from Hyde’s face.

“I want to hear more about your writing” Tits said from the back, clothed.

“Absolutely, I have a lot to tell, it’s nice to find someone who is actually interested in culture” Hyde was clearly bulshitting.

Ball Digger still unable to speak was beginning to feel like he was hallucinating, which wasn’t a good way to feel when you are driving, and responsible for the livelihoods of a beautiful woman, a pain in the ass, two kittens a gramophone and a wok. He found it hard to stomach Hyde’s successful attempt at impressing Tits with his bullshit. Particularly because this Bullshit, omitting Ernest Hemmingway’s involvement was almost Ball Diggers truth. He thought to himself isn’t it funny how one persons bullshit could work better than the truth, even though the bullshit was the truth. Just coming out the wrong face. “I’m incredible at Ice skating” suddenly noises were flying out of Ball Digger mouth. Ball Digger had never been good at bull shitting and the silence that followed his claim proved that had not changed.

“Stop here!” Hyde suddenly screamed out. Ball Digger pulled an emergency stop. “ I need to get some Jaffa Cakes” Hyde got out the car and ran as fast as he could into one of the many Tesco Expresses which were slowly littering Rotherhithe’s street corners. Mysterious shops, which sold nothing you, wanted. Hyde really did run like a small child, lots of little steps but with intense enthusiasm.

“So how often do you go ice skating”?

Ball Digger was surprised to hear a voice come from the back of the car. He checked in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t one of the kittens talking at him.

“Oh it’s like a drug, I go whenever I’m not on duty, I can’t get enough” He didn’t feel comfortable with his lies, and knew in himself having finished the sentence, he would now have to invest in some skates and some lessons and make this a reality. As much as he wanted Tits to like him, he couldn’t live with the lies.

Suddenly Hyde appeared, he was carrying a giant bouquet of flowers. He was hand signaling for Tits to roll down her window. She did, and he stuffed the flowers in, with not a word spoken. It was one of the worst and most aggressive handing over of flowers Ball Digger had ever seen.

He got back in the car with a doorstop in his hands. “They didn’t have any Jaffa Cakes” he said, angry. “I’m not sure why I bought this,” he continued.

10. The Snack and The Reality Check

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“Bitches” Hyde nodded to the room as he strutted through Rotherhithe Police Station arm in arm with Tits. He was walking like a pimp, which was misguided in its cockiness considering he was a policeman in a police station. Ball Digger trailed behind holding onto their newly acquired doorstop. “Where the hell have you been? It’s the end of the day!” The constable said putting down his duster. He registered the female presence in the room and noted that he was not looking at his most masculine. He lowered his vocals down a couple of octaves, to a thick inaudible baritone, and continued “ You’re lucky there was absolutely nothing bad happening in Rotherhithe today”. Hyde being smart instantly clocked the way the constables new voice was shaking Tits’s world like a miniature volcano. She could have just been hungry, but the grumblings began as the constables booming voice erupted and Hyde only had one way of thinking and that was always worst-case scenario. Though he had only known Tits for a couple of hours, and the last hour had been spent with her dressed in what looked like a knitted sack, he enjoyed the feeling of envy he received off the other policeman. Not to be out done Hyde lowered his octaves a further two. Practically as if talking in slow motion Hyde replied “Oh Yeah, then what do you call this?” He threw the trousers in the Constables direction. For a second the ferocity of the trousers movement broke up the hypnotic mood the two men had created. Tits didn’t understand what was going on, she still didn’t fully understand how she could help in the case either, but she was keen to hear more of Hyde’s Ernest Hemmingway stories, and she didn’t mind getting out the kitchen for a while. As she watched the two of them speaking in deeper and deeper voices their body movements and hand gestures synching up with their voices in half speed it dawned on her she may have been hungry for a real long time. She snuck out of Hyde’s grasp while he was still trying to out deep voice the constable in search of a snack.

“You got any snacks around here?” She walked over to Ball Digger who was stood holding the doorstop with two hands. Tit’s moved towards him with the grace of a swan. As had already been noted by him earlier there was something incredibly Swanlike about her. However she did not have a beak and there were other things that also set her apart from actually being a Swan. For instance she was asking for snacks, using the medium of speech.

“What do we look like here? ... A Spud U Like?” Ball Digger had tried to assert an arrogant manliness he had thought he had seen in Hyde’s success with tits, but somehow he had got the tone all-wrong

“I wouldn’t call a baked potato a snack, would you?” Tits was smart, and irked. Ball digger wasn’t sure how to reply. He felt bad for letting himself down and not being himself. He had always upheld a strong sense of self. In defiance of all his insecurities Ball Digger always believed his fundamental being a good honest person would win out. His insides would laugh in disbelief as he listened to Hyde bullshitting about Hemmingway’s teachings. Hyde was no way a writer, sure he was a racist, and a misogynist, and possibly an alcoholic and sure these are qualities that good writers have in abundance, but let’s face it it’s a fine line that divides a writer and a racist, and as far as Ball Digger was concerned Hyde had not crossed over. What most upset Ball Digger though was the realization that he had to go and book himself some Ice Skating lessons, and the realization that however he may have enjoyed feeling at least morally superior to Hyde, he was actually the same. When left alone with Tits, he couldn’t tell her how he had ridiculously fallen in love with her within (according to his stopwatch) two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. He didn’t have the balls to actually lay it on the line honestly, instead he tried to impress her with niche skills he didn’t actually have. Why had he chosen Ice Skating? It would be hard to showcase the skills, and harder to pick them up in the first place.

“No, I guess not” Ball Digger replied solemnly, he was surprised the irked Tits was still waiting for a reply to her baked potato being a snack question, while he wallowed extensively through his thoughts. “We have a Scotch Egg vending machine in the corridor”, as he spoke Ball Digger wedged the door open with the new doorstop, and stepped aside-allowing Tits to investigate the Scotch Eggs. In his eyes he had stepped back, a heroic loser admitting defeat in his actions. In her eyes he was the guy who told him where to find some Scotch eggs.

11. The Brad Pitt Cameo

Hyde and the Constable had to call a stalemate after the Constable nearly choked on his own tongue while trying to out deep voice Hyde. After fourty minutes of listening to what felt like a didgeridoo with occasional swearing the two men’s normal voices almost sounded like they were on helium. “Wait, who’s that?” Hyde had used his eyes to spot somebody familiar looking just sitting at a desk. He was familiar, but not familiar to Rotherhithe Police Station.

“That’s Brad Pitt,” The Constable said discretely. Hyde’s eyes lit up.

“The Architect?” Hyde was visibly excited, “How’s the New Orleans Project going?”

Brad Pitt gave no response he just sat in his seat wearing his shades looking as if he was blind, which didn’t explain why he couldn’t answer the question. The Constable leaned in and whispered to Hyde, “He isn’t allowed to speak”

“What!” Hyde was pissed

“He’s doing a subtle cameo, when the ratings are down, the writer asks favours from his better known friends and then the mention of their name gets loads of hits again on the Internet. It serves no purpose to anyone, he doesn’t care about Brad, He doesn’t care that my wife doesn’t love me anymore, or that you have a Jalapeño in your moustache still. He just wants to make himself feel better with some accidental views from unassuming Brad Pitt fans”

“Well that seems like a load of bull crap, do you not think when you have a world famous environmentally conscious architect in your space you would not want to benefit from his thoughts?”

“If he spoke, he’d be acting, and we’d have to pay him”

TWO IN ONE SHAMPOO, SAVING TIME AND DESTROYING THE WORLD

2012-02-16T11:04:00.000-08:00

Joan Collins went into her dressing room and decanted half her Head and Shoulders into an empty bottle and filled up the original bottle with V05 Conditioner. Having a brain she then poured the half bottle of shampoo into the now half empty V05 bottle so she had two full bottles of the mixture. She went into the shower with one of the bottles and minutes later came out showered, hair cleaned and conditioned. She beamed like an angel and her hair flickered in slow motion as if it was capable of independent thought. Next door her co-star Linda Evans (Krystle Carrington) was still struggling to uncap her second bottle. Joan Collins whacked on her Shoulder pads and was out signing autographs and talking to fans and generally holding the fort for the cast and crew of Dynasty while everyone else got themselves together. The extra minutes talking to the fans of the show over time generated her status as the peoples favourite, and Joan and the sassy bitch Alexis she played in the show became household names. Linda Evans never fully recovered. Some thought her withering teary performances as Kyrstle Carrington towards the ends of Dynasty’s existence were her honing her craft but she knew inside that Joan Collins and her magical time saving schemes had finally defeated her. Her last Golden Globe award had come in 1986, the year Joan had begun implementing her concoction, by 1989 Evans had retired from acting for good, finding it hard to adapt to the changing times.

Evans ‘s is a sad story but not as sad as someone who only won three Golden Globes, and definitely not as sad as one of the unlucky few of us never to have been nominated for a Golden Globe award at all. If you’re one of those out there I feel for you and I am gently patting my left fist onto my right breast as a mark of solidarity with you, even though I was nominated for “Most Mysterious Nectar Card owner of 2009” and if you get me drunk will not stop going on about it. I lie; you don’t need to get me drunk. It was awesome. Anyway what I’m trying to say is that with every generation as things begin to change the world leaves behind an unfortunate percentage who cannot deal with a new way of being. In the eighties Joan Collins invented “saving time”. Within months of her introducing what seemed like an innocent concept an apple grower from San Francisco had invented the computer and enhanced the concept considerably. Before long (six weeks) the internet arrived and the world turned into a giant Titanic ship slowly sinking in a sea filled with millions of Linda Evans’s reaching out hoping for rescue. Unfortunately that will never come, because when you’re in the business of saving time, you never turn back.

The computer had seemed like a good idea, the money saved in printer ink and erasers had put the respective businesses in jeopardy, but hey that was just a minor blip to what would be an error free world. With the push of a button (the Delete button) your mistakes would be wiped away, suddenly on paper we all had the opportunity to look as intelligent as each other. Democracy as we know it was born. Intelligent men like the scientist Jeff Goldblum would warn us of the dangers of timesaving or what became known as living life to the “Max”, also briefly known as “Maxing”, though that did not really catch on. He would silently whisper to himself with eyes goggled, about the eventual decline of the pen industry, the less mistakes we would make would then in turn bring a more efficient use of paper. Hence the decline of paper suppliers and tree cutters. That was four businesses demolished in the space of a fortnight. People wouldn’t listen to Jeff; his scepticism seemed to discredit his role as a visionary scientist. As did his Mattel Chemistry kit. Jeff was an idealist, and ideally he wanted everything to stay exactly as it was. His fears were met with derision, particularly as he had offered the same thoughts at a symposium a year previous reading from his Filofax in fear of the impact the introduction of Cranberry juice would have on society. People were too busy feeling intelligent to really notice the virus that was spreading, and the concerns Goldblum was preaching. Now some, like Body Shop founder Dame Anita Roddick seemed to argue that not needing to cut down so many trees would be environmentally sound and a benefit to the World at large. Time saving may well have bought about with it “Lifesaving”. With this thinking she opened a chain of shops called The Body Shop selling magic potions which when applied to your body made you ethically correct. Roddick’s business model was of relief to a western world, where domestic industries were slowly buckling. The “time savers” or as they liked to be now coined” Lifesavers” were now maintaining the upkeep of the world at whole. Plus with Roddick’s intervention giving jobs to people in more deprived areas of the world (Rainforest and areas around), all of whom would go on to become doctors.

Now as technology improved and people grew with it, they became immune to the powers the Body Shop had to offer. It was no longer enough; people were saving too much time and needed to feel like there saving time was bringing with it more good. Prince Charles finally living up to his duties buckled in and introduced an “organic” philosophy to farming, and again, minds were blown. In the sixties a cauliflower was just a cauliflower, but now we had a cauliflower, and an “organic” cauliflower. It was twice as expensive smaller and covered in dirt. It also went off in three hours after point of purchase. Soon people’s food budgets had doubled. Now there were two cauliflowers a good one and an evil one produced by evil people. You felt better because now you were paying twice as much for your cauliflower, you felt especially good if like Joe you used to be a tree cutter and now you had no money and so by spending two pounds on a white vegetable you really were giving back to the world all you had.

As the years went on the computer had slowly decimated every thing, in so many ways Goldblum had been proved right, Cranberry juice was everywhere, and with the developments in hyper efficiency came a void in actual substance. The computer had made it so simple to acquire films and music without payment, that the industries started to fall quickly. The computer had turned the idea of talent into an illusion. Before we knew it we all had the hardware to make our own films and music, again to the untalented this was deemed the blessing of living in a “democracy” but for those with genuine skills it was frightening. There were suddenly more songs in the world than ears to listen. If somebody in the Fourties had predicted this for the future it would have sounded fanciful, poetic even whimsy but the reality proved on the whole ugly. People had turned competitive and predatory, laughing at each other’s misguided beliefs in themselves. In fairness there is nothing funnier than watching people who are clearly rubbish believing in themselves. Soon to cater for all the abundance of “talent” Simon Cowell devised the talent show to squeeze as much money out of one talented person every year for as long as it lasted. We were living in a time were everyone had a right to dream and nobody could tell anybody they weren’t good enough, even though nobody was really putting the effort in to be half as good as they used to have to be.

To conclude there used to be a time when it wasn’t acceptable to walk down the street talking to yourself. Now if we see someone talking to themselves with no sign of an earpiece we presume they must have the most up to date phone. The boundaries of sanity have been blurred. We saved all this time and know not what to do with it, ending up ironically watching other people sleeping in real time on shows like Big Brother (this point is totally out of date) and confirming Andy Warhol’s prediction that everyone would have their fifteen minutes of fame. However Andy Warhol was wrong about one thing, and that was the price of the Cauliflower, he could not imagine and ridiculed the prospect of one costing two pounds. He may have been a bit set in his ways, but if only we had listened to Jeff Goldblum, just a little.

HYDE AND SIKH (Chapters 9/10/11) Snowed In Sunday Omnibus

2012-02-05T03:08:00.000-08:00

9. Hyde, Ball Digger and Tits

“I want to hear more about your writing” Tits said from the back, clothed.

“Absolutely, I have a lot to tell, it’s nice to find someone who is actually interested in culture” Hyde was clearly bulshitting.

“So how often do you go ice skating”?

Ball Digger was surprised to hear a voice come from the back of the car. He checked in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t one of the kittens talking at him.

He got back in the car with a doorstop in his hands. “They didn’t have any Jaffa Cakes” he said, angry. “I’m not sure why I bought this,” he continued.

10. The Snack and The Reality Check

11. The Brad Pitt Cameo

“That’s Brad Pitt,” The Constable said discretely. Hyde’s eyes lit up.

“The Architect?” Hyde was visibly excited, “How’s the New Orleans Project going?”

“What!” Hyde was pissed

“Well that seems like a load of bull crap, do you not think when you have a world famous environmentally conscious architect in your space you would not want to benefit from his thoughts?”

“If he spoke, he’d be acting, and we’d have to pay him”

HYDE AND SIKH CHAPTERS 5-8(WEEKEND EDITION)

2012-01-20T09:12:00.000-08:00

5. The Squirrel

“No I was coming to that conclusion myself,” Ball Digger said nodding in solid agreement.

“Look there!” Gasped Ball Digger suddenly. “A squirrel!” Ball Digger could not resist a squirrel. “And look he has a nut awww”

“At least we can’t say this mission was a total waste of time,” said Hyde getting back in the car.

“You know it’s funny though” Said Ball Digger “ The man just disappeared without a trace” He turned to Hyde who had now fashioned his own turban out of the aloof trousers.

“Fuck you Ball Digger,” said Hyde.” I’m thirsty, look there’s a Hooters let’s get a drink”

“But it’s only half past two”

“They do lattes”

6. The Hooters In Rotherhithe

“Wow Carpet!” Hyde seemed impressed. As a connoisseur of the Hooters establishment (he had been to two others In his hometown) he had never seen a carpeted Hooters. “Strange choice”.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting Hyde but this is Rotherhithe, we’re not animals” Hyde turned to Ball Digger dramatically and stared him in the eyes.

“We’re all animals, all of us,” he said through his teeth. “And turquoise, it IS a strange choice” Ball Digger took a look down.

“I suppose, I wouldn’t want to live with it, but for a couple of hours on an evening out it makes a change. It’s a bit like I’m walking on the ocean”

“What are you some kind of poet?”

“Mother fucking undercover poet” Hyde shook his head; he seemed to be getting angry.

“No I just said it was a bit like walking on the ocean”

“Who are you Jesus you’re walking on Hooters, reality check”. He snapped his fingers with the percussive thud of a coconut cracking.

“What’s a Sikh?” Hyde asked Ball Digger, as he did so he noticed his Turban and realized he still had the makeshift one fashioned out of the trousers on his head. He yanked it off quickly.

“I take it back,” said the melons. “The cat has dragged in one Sikh and one American”.

“Let’s get one thing straight, we didn’t get dragged in by no cat” Hyde seemed irritated with the constant references to be being dragged by a cat.

“What can I get ya boys?” asked melons whilst pretending to chew gum.

“Two lattes, and give us a menu”

“Are we eating?” Ball Digger said checking his Swatch.

“You’ve never been to Hooters have you?” Hyde laughed to himself. “You can’t go to Hooters and not eat the food, that would be like shitting in your own mouth”

It had come to Ball Diggers attention that Hyde definitely was not a poet. Or if he was he tried his damnedest to hide it.

“This place is as dead as a Dormouse” Said Hyde looking around. Suddenly a voice was heard.

“And what about you? Melons prodded Ball Digger with her finger.

“Oh, I’ll take a Ham sandwich”

“I didn’t think you’re kind ate pork” Hyde said through his teeth

“And what is my kind exactly?, I’m a policeman Hyde” Ball Digger said assertively into Hyde’s face. He then looked back up at Melons. “I’ll have a Ham sandwich please”

“Arr right me hearties” Melons said like a pirate and turned to leave.

“Hey” shouted Hyde at her while stroking his moustache. Melons stopped abruptly but didn’t turn around. “Where are all the strippers?”

“They will be out soon, they’re getting undressed”

7. Steaming Cold Food That Tastes like shit

“You can’t smoke in a public place,” said Ball Digger

“I know but I can’t see anyone here can you? I can’t just arrest smoke can I?”

“I heard you arrested your own leg, I presume you have the arrogance to arrest anything”

“I’m sorry could I see the chef?” Ball Digger could not take anymore; the food was so bad he was willing to take the wrath of Melons.

“Why?”

“I’m interested in how this sandwich was prepared”

“You guys are cops right?” Melons asked with her arms folded over her bosoms.

“What you guys doing messing around here anyways, aren’t there men fallen over on the streets for you to help?”

“Initially we just came for lattes,” Ball Digger said politely

“Oh shit I forgot to make those, I’m so sorry” It didn’t really matter to the cops, coming in for lattes felt like a lifetime ago.

“We’re looking for a man,” Ball Digger said with some assurance. We think he’s missing his trousers.

“Wait, we haven’t talked about this” Hyde seemed irritated.

“Come on whose are these?” Ball Digger waved the stray trousers.

“Oooh that’s good” Hyde instantly understood Ball Diggers logic.

“You’re asking someone in a strip joint if they have seen a half naked person? Mister half naked people are a dime a dozen here.”

“Lady, nothing in this place is a dime a dozen”

“I’ll go get the chef”, Melons seemed deflated, “And those lattes”.

8. Introducing Tits

“You wanted to see me?” she asked in a sweet questioning tone.

“Listen Tits” Hyde said with confidence.

“How dare you call her that?” Ball Digger said.

“Oh it’s ok, my name is Tits” Tits pointed at a name badge which was pinned on the breast of her apron.

“Can I call you Tit for short” Hyde asked pretending to put a cigarette in his mouth, and making use of the pre existing smoke.

“No it’s Tits” Tits looked angry.

“We’re Cops, and we’re looking for a man, we thought you might be able to help. He’s probably trouser less, we didn’t have a sketch artist so consider me your visual aid”

“Did he have a Jalapeno in his pants?”

Hyde took a look down, but he didn’t buckle, he was a cocky asshole when he wanted to be. “We have a good reason to believe that may well be the case”

Ball Digger couldn’t believe he was going to talk himself out of the humiliation of having bits of food inside his trousers.

“I’m sorry officers I don’t see why you think I could be of any help I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen all day, I haven’t even got a window back there.”

“Is it hygienic to cook naked?” Hyde took an air puff.

“Look there is no food on me”

Suddenly Ball Digger got a call on his mobile. “It’s the Constable”

“We better head back” Hyde coughed; he’d taken a heavy drag on his fake cigarette. “You’re going to need to come with us”

“Me? Why? I told you I don’t know anything,” She pleaded.

“Because the guy writing this doesn’t know where he is going with it, but he is desperate to move things out of the Hooters, he wasn’t planning on being here this long”.

“Someone’s actually writing this?” How exciting said Tits. “I always wanted to be a writer”

If Ball Digger was able to speak to her he would have shouted out his poetic aspirations, regardless of Hyde’s presence, but no sound would come from his open mouth.

“That’s so sad”

Ball Digger could see Tits falling for Hyde.

“Hemmingway said a lot of great works were lost like that. I guess it’s Karma, they cleaned up my masterwork, now I clean up the streets…from crime, I’m not a street cleaner”

None of this was making any sense to Ball Digger but it was clearly working for Hyde and so in his head Ball Digger labeled Hyde a “Mother Fucking Asshole”.

HYDE AND SIKH CHAPTERS 7+8 INTRODUCING TITS

2012-01-17T03:27:00.000-08:00

7. Steaming Cold Food That Tastes like shit

“You can’t smoke in a public place,” said Ball Digger

“I know but I can’t see anyone here can you? I can’t just arrest smoke can I?”

“I heard you arrested your own leg, I presume you have the arrogance to arrest anything”

“I’m sorry could I see the chef?” Ball Digger could not take anymore; the food was so bad he was willing to take the wrath of Melons.

“Why?”

“I’m interested in how this sandwich was prepared”

“You guys are cops right?” Melons asked with her arms folded over her bosoms.

“What you guys doing messing around here anyways, aren’t there men fallen over on the streets for you to help?”

“Initially we just came for lattes,” Ball Digger said politely

“Oh shit I forgot to make those, I’m so sorry” It didn’t really matter to the cops, coming in for lattes felt like a lifetime ago.

“We’re looking for a man,” Ball Digger said with some assurance. We think he’s missing his trousers.

“Wait, we haven’t talked about this” Hyde seemed irritated.

“Come on whose are these?” Ball Digger waved the stray trousers.

“Oooh that’s good” Hyde instantly understood Ball Diggers logic.

“You’re asking someone in a strip joint if they have seen a half naked person? Mister half naked people are a dime a dozen here.”

“Lady, nothing in this place is a dime a dozen”

“I’ll go get the chef”, Melons seemed deflated, “And those lattes”.

8. Introducing Tits

“You wanted to see me?” she asked in a sweet questioning tone.

“Listen Tits” Hyde said with confidence.

“How dare you call her that?” Ball Digger said.

“Oh it’s ok, my name is Tits” Tits pointed at a name badge which was pinned on the breast of her apron.

“Can I call you Tit for short” Hyde asked pretending to put a cigarette in his mouth, and making use of the pre existing smoke.

“No it’s Tits” Tits looked angry.

“We’re Cops, and we’re looking for a man, we thought you might be able to help. He’s probably trouser less, we didn’t have a sketch artist so consider me your visual aid”

“Did he have a Jalapeno in his pants?”

Hyde took a look down, but he didn’t buckle, he was a cocky asshole when he wanted to be. “We have a good reason to believe that may well be the case”

Ball Digger couldn’t believe he was going to talk himself out of the humiliation of having bits of food inside his trousers.

“I’m sorry officers I don’t see why you think I could be of any help I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen all day, I haven’t even got a window back there.”

“Is it hygienic to cook naked?” Hyde took an air puff.

“Look there is no food on me”

Suddenly Ball Digger got a call on his mobile. “It’s the Constable”

“We better head back” Hyde coughed; he’d taken a heavy drag on his fake cigarette. “You’re going to need to come with us”

“Me? Why? I told you I don’t know anything,” She pleaded.

“Because the guy writing this doesn’t know where he is going with it, but he is desperate to move things out of the Hooters, he wasn’t planning on being here this long”.

“Someone’s actually writing this?” How exciting said Tits. “I always wanted to be a writer”

If Ball Digger was able to speak to her he would have shouted out his poetic aspirations, regardless of Hyde’s presence, but no sound would come from his open mouth.

“That’s so sad”

Ball Digger could see Tits falling for Hyde.

“Hemmingway said a lot of great works were lost like that. I guess it’s Karma, they cleaned up my masterwork, now I clean up the streets…from crime, I’m not a street cleaner”

None of this was making any sense to Ball Digger but it was clearly working for Hyde and so in his head Ball Digger labeled Hyde a “Mother Fucking Asshole”.

Hyde and Sikh Chapter 6: THE HOOTERS IN ROTHERHITHE

2012-01-15T02:46:00.000-08:00

6. The Hooters In Rotherhithe

“Wow Carpet!” Hyde seemed impressed. As a connoisseur of the Hooters establishment (he had been to two others In his hometown) he had never seen a carpeted Hooters. “Strange choice”.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting Hyde but this is Rotherhithe, we’re not animals” Hyde turned to Ball Digger dramatically and stared him in the eyes.

“We’re all animals, all of us,” he said through his teeth. “And turquoise, it IS a strange choice” Ball Digger took a look down.

“I suppose, I wouldn’t want to live with it, but for a couple of hours on an evening out it makes a change. It’s a bit like I’m walking on the ocean”

“What are you some kind of poet?”

“Mother fucking undercover poet” Hyde shook his head; he seemed to be getting angry.

“No I just said it was a bit like walking on the ocean”

“Who are you Jesus you’re walking on Hooters, reality check”. He snapped his fingers with the percussive thud of a coconut cracking.

“What’s a Sikh?” Hyde asked Ball Digger, as he did so he noticed his Turban and realized he still had the makeshift one fashioned out of the trousers on his head. He yanked it off quickly.

“I take it back,” said the melons. “The cat has dragged in one Sikh and one American”.

“Let’s get one thing straight, we didn’t get dragged in by no cat” Hyde seemed irritated with the constant references to be being dragged by a cat.

“What can I get ya boys?” asked melons whilst pretending to chew gum.

“Two lattes, and give us a menu”

“Are we eating?” Ball Digger said checking his Swatch.

“You’ve never been to Hooters have you?” Hyde laughed to himself. “You can’t go to Hooters and not eat the food, that would be like shitting in your own mouth”

It had come to Ball Diggers attention that Hyde definitely was not a poet. Or if he was he tried his damnedest to hide it.

“This place is as dead as a Dormouse” Said Hyde looking around. Suddenly a voice was heard.

“And what about you? Melons prodded Ball Digger with her finger.

“Oh, I’ll take a Ham sandwich”

“I didn’t think you’re kind ate pork” Hyde said through his teeth

“And what is my kind exactly?, I’m a policeman Hyde” Ball Digger said assertively into Hyde’s face. He then looked back up at Melons. “I’ll have a Ham sandwich please”

“Arr right me hearties” Melons said like a pirate and turned to leave.

“Hey” shouted Hyde at her while stroking his moustache. Melons stopped abruptly but didn’t turn around. “Where are all the strippers?”

“They will be out soon, they’re getting undressed”

Hyde And Sikh Chapter 5

2012-01-12T09:50:00.000-08:00

5. The Squirrel

“No I was coming to that conclusion myself,” Ball Digger said nodding in solid agreement.

“Look there!” Gasped Ball Digger suddenly. “A squirrel!” Ball Digger could not resist a squirrel. “And look he has a nut awww”

“At least we can’t say this mission was a total waste of time,” said Hyde getting back in the car.

“You know it’s funny though” Said Ball Digger “ The man just disappeared without a trace” He turned to Hyde who had now fashioned his own turban out of the aloof trousers.

“Fuck you Ball Digger,” said Hyde.” I’m thirsty, look there’s a Hooters let’s get a drink”

“But it’s only half past two”

“They do lattes”

(To be continued)

Hyde and Sikh The Omnibus...(Chapters 1-4)

2012-01-11T17:34:00.000-08:00

Hyde and Sikh

1. Hyde

It was not a good time to be alive. Hyde would stare at the moon, kick an imaginary can in frustration and rail against the world's injustice as the wind blew gently, indifferent to his torment. Once a few months back when particularly agitated, he missed the imaginary can and kicked the curb. That hurt pretty bad and in frustration Hyde pulled out his gun and tried to shoot the guilty leg. Failing to get a clean shot he arrested his leg and dragged it back to the station to throw it in a cell.

The times they were a changing, and Hyde was not willing to reset his Swatch. Even though his escapades with his own body had earned him a transfer from his home in New York to Rotherhithe, a residential district in inner southeast London (Google), he was literally five hours late for work everyday. As I say, he was not willing to reset his Swatch. Or accept the fact that he was in Rotherhithe. No one could tell Hyde what to do, he was a cop like they don’t make anymore. Ignorant, arrogant, misogynistic, he was all those things like the best of them, but Hyde wore a moustache too. It was a big one; it looked as if he had stapled a cat to his face. Somehow this didn’t deter the woman in bars who would swarm to him like flies to shit. Sensitive souls looking for a woman to share their lives with would sit in silent awe and watch as Hyde told woman after woman night after night that they meant less to him than a Hot Dog. And they cried into their ales as every night Hyde vacated the premises armed with ladies. His self-assurance served him well. This was a man who was angry at a world which was making the printed word redundant, whilst gleefully admitting that he had not once wasted his time reading a book.

2. Lunch

The minute hand on the clock hit the hour mark. “Right boys, it’s lunch” said the Constable without missing a beat. A gentle breeze filled the room as the policemen started shuffling their papers in unison. The waft from the papers suddenly blew back the other way as the doors swung open aggressively. "What’s up with you fuckers, you always start the day with lunch?” Hyde was in the building. “ It’s one o’clock Hyde, you’re five hours late…again!” retorted the Constable. “Anyone ever tell you lunch is for wimps?” Hyde snapped back while deliberately looking at a person he wasn’t talking to. “You told us that yesterday when you came in late …again!” said one of the officers, patting the Constable on the back. The chief wanted to give him a high five, but he was scared to attempt one in front of an American. Especially such an intensely angry and unreasonable one. “ You have to accept it Hyde, this isn't New York anymore, you’re in Rotherhithe”. As the Constable spoke, Hyde placed a cigarette in each of his two ears and screamed “aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh”

“Hold up! Ball Digger who?” Hyde pulled out the cigarettes from his ears and pointed one of them at Baljinder. “What is that?”

“That is your new partner, I want you to introduce yourself.”

“Now chief, you know I’m a plain talking guy, I just say what I see. No beating about the bush.”

“Yes I’ve noticed,” said the Constable, taking one step closer to his ham sandwich.

“Well, that’s a coloured guy, and he’s not even black. Do you know how confusing this is for a white American stereotype?”

“Hi, I’m Baljinder.”

“Listen Ball digger, we have to learn to live with each other and I don’t like learning so this won’t be easy”. Baljinder nodded warily. “I understand,” he said.

“Whaddya hiding under there?” Hyde pointed at Baljinder’s turban. “Is it crack? You asshole!”

“Hey come on! I’m a policeman.”

“It’s a shame,” said Hyde. “Because you look more like a pineapple."

3. The Name

“Hey Ball Digger, whaddya doing?” That was number four.

“I am waiting for the phone to ring” Baljinder replied.

“Ball Digger, let’s go! We can’t just sit and wait for the phone to ring!” Hyde got up and kicked his chair across the room. That was number five.

“I would just like to say Hyde, that my name is in fact not Ball Digger. It is Baljinder, Baljinder Singh.”

“Sorry dude. I can’t say that”

“But that is my name, Baljinder”.

“Ba..a..ll…d.d.d.iiiig…Yeah sorry. I just can’t do it.”

“Look it’s easy, I’ll spell it out on this piece of paper for you,” Baljinder wrote his name in big capital letters and held the piece of paper up for Hyde.

“See it’s funny, cos if I take all those letters individually I can say them fine, but you put them in that weird jumbled order, and it’s Ball Digger”.

“Can you believe this guy?” Hyde laughed, pointing directly at his turban. “Every one calls him Ball Digger and he just won’t accept it’s his name, what a dick.”

“Yeah.” Balljinder was being pummelled into submission. “So you’re saying this is going to be a book?” He questioned.

“It might be.”

“Movie tie-ins?”

“Who knows”?

“But the writer doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen, he’s just writing as he goes, probably with his trousers down.”

“I’ll get my keys…Let’s go” said Ball Digger.

4. On The Way To Finding The Man Who Fell Over.

“You miss your home don’t you?” said Ball Digger, as their hands touched almost intimately on the wheel.

“Fuck you Ball Digger, I’m Hyde. Hyde don’t miss anything …not even TV shows he doesn’t want to watch. You get me?”

“That’s a different kind of missing.”

Hyde let go of the wheel. “You know, if you drive any slower chances are the guy who fell over will probably have stood up.”

Abruptly, Ball Digger stopped the car. “What the fuck ya playing at Ball Digger???” barked Hyde.

“Look at this, it’s a pair of trousers, why would there be a pair of trousers in the middle of the road?" he screamed to Hyde, hurtling towards the car.

“What’s the waist on those?” asked Hyde, like he had seen this all before.

“34”

“DAMN.”

HYDE AND SIKH 4.

2012-01-11T02:37:00.000-08:00

4. On The Way To Finding The Man Who Fell Over.

Ball Digger drove at a leisurely pace. Whenever he got a chance to get out the office he would embrace it, sucking in Rotherhithe’s modern housing and commercial facilities with a nostalgia which others where yet to feel. It was projected nostalgia. Looking out at the Brunel Engine House a tear would almost fall from his eye. Though not today, not with Hyde in the passenger seat. Today Ball Digger controlled his love for his surroundings as to not show weakness. He was distracted enough however, not to notice that Hyde, not being a character to take a back seat, had his arm reached over and one hand on the steering wheel too. It didn’t really bother Ball Digger he would rather Hyde just felt comfortable.

“You know the name Rotherhithe derives from Anglo- Saxon times. Rother was for sailor and Hithe meant Haven… A sailors Haven” Ball Digger sighed with the finish of his sentence as they drove past a soon to open TK Max. “Yeah” Hyde did not sound very impressed. “Well I come from New York City, my friend, New stands for Fucking and York stands for Cool and City…that just stand for city…Fucking Cool City”

“You miss your home don’t you?” Ball Digger said as their hands almost embarrassingly touched on the wheel.

“Fuck you Ball Digger, I’m Hyde, Hyde doesn’t miss anything …not even TV shows he doesn’t want to watch, you get me?”

“That’s a different kind of missing”.

Hyde let go of the wheel. “You know if you drive any slower chances are the man who fell over who we are going to see will have probably stood up”

Suddenly Ball Digger stopped the car. “What tha fuck you playing at Ball Digger?”

“Look, there” As he spoke Ball Digger exited the car and ran across the road, picked up a discarded item and ran back towards the car, taking a moment to suck in some of the residential districts fresh air, and looking carefully to his left and right before crossing.

“Look at this, it’s a pair of trousers, why would there be a pair of trousers in the middle of the road? He screamed to Hyde as he came hurtling towards him.

“What’s the waist on those?” Asked Hyde like he had seen this before.

“34”

“Damn”

(TO BE CONTINUED)

HYDE AND SIKH CHAPTERS 2 + 3

2012-01-10T03:23:00.000-08:00

2. Lunch

The Minute hand on the clock hit the hour mark, “Right boys, it’s lunch” said the constable without missing a beat. A gentle breeze filled the room as the policeman all started shuffling their papers in unison. The waft from the papers suddenly blew back the other way as the doors swung open aggressively.” What’s up with you fuckers, you always start the day with lunch?” Hyde was in the building. “ It’s One o’ clock Hyde, you’re five hours late…again!” retorted the constable. “Anyone ever tell you lunch is for wimps?” Hyde asked while deliberately looking at a person he wasn’t talking to.

“You told us yesterday when you came in late …again!” one of the police officers patted the constable on the back. The constable wanted to high five him because he was happy with the way the discourse was developing, but he was scared to attempt one in front of an American. Especially such an intensely angry and unreasonable one. “ You have to accept it Hyde, this isn’t New York anymore, you’re in Rotherhithe”. As the Constable spoke Hyde placed a cigarette in each of his two ears and screamed “aaaaaaaaaaa”

“ I want you to meet Baljinder Singh, he’s going to be your partner for the rest of your stay” The Constable pointed at an unassuming man sitting at a desk in the far corner of the now empty room. “Now there’s a ham sandwich with my name on it”.

“Hold up! Ball Digger who?” Hyde pulled out the cigarettes from his ears, he pointed one of them at Baljinder, “what is that?”

“That is your new partner, I want you to introduce yourself”

“Now chief you know I’m a plain talking guy, I just say what I see, no beating about the bush”

“Yeah I’ve noticed,” said the Constable taking one step closer to a Ham sandwich.

“Well that’s a coloured guy, and he’s not even black, do you know how confusing this is for a white American stereotype?”

The constable slid his feet slowly out the room while still looking at Hyde’s perplexed face. He didn’t respond to Hyde’s question, he wasn’t sure how too. Hyde looked more and more perplexed as he watched the constable leave the office without actually taking any steps. Who did he think he was dealing with here? He was a cop from New York; at the bare minimum he was trained to be able to tell when somebody was getting further away, even if they were doing it slowly and without taking actual steps. In New York a sense of perspective was one of the first things they taught you at Cop School, and Hyde’s senses were telling him the Constable had a Ham sandwich with his name on it.

Hyde turned and faced his new partner and made the speech mark gesture with his fingers even though he said “partner” in his head. He walked towards the desk he was silently sitting at and kicked down the empty chair opposing him. “Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t like you, never will”

“Hi I’m Baljinder”

“Listen Ball digger, we have to learn to live with each other and I don’t like learning so this won’t be easy”. Baljinder nodded with an alarming degree of understanding. “I understand,” he said.

“What are you hiding under there?” Hyde pointed at Baljinder’s turban. “Is it Crack you Asshole?”

“Hey come on! I’m a policeman”

“It’s a shame,” said Hyde. “Because you look more like a pineapple.

3. The Name

It had been troubling Baljinder since their first communications, that Hyde thought his name was Ball Digger. He had initially let it go, and put it down to difficulties in acclimatizing to new cultures. Also there had not been any further communications. But where is the cut off point in which your name has been changed for good? Perhaps after someone has called you Ball Digger five times without being corrected then it’s your own fault for the confusion.

“Hey Ball Digger what you doing?” That was number four.

“I am waiting for the phone to ring” Baljinder replied.

“Ball Digger, let’s go! We can’t just sit and wait for the phone to ring!” Hyde got up and kicked his chair across the room. That was five.

“I would just like to say Hyde that my name is in fact not Ball Digger it is Baljinder, Baljinder Singh”

“I’m sorry I can’t say that”

“But that is my name, Baljinder”.

“Ba..a..ll…d.d.d.iiiig…yeah sorry I just can’t do it.”

“Look it’s easy I’ll spell it out on this piece of paper for you” Baljinder wrote his name in big capital letters and held the piece of paper up for Hyde.

“See it’s funny cos if I take all those letters individually I can say them fine, but you put them in that weird jumbled order, and it’s Ball Digger”.

“Hyde, Ball Digger, we have a case for you” The Constable walked in with a mix of excitement and anxiety. “About Fucking time chief” Hyde said while playing a sweet air drum roll on a three hundred and sixty degree kit. While He was at one hundred and eighty degrees Baljinder took the opportunity to speak. “Constable my name is Baljinder, you know that!... I’m not Ball Digger”

“Can you believe this guy?” Hyde laughed pointing directly into his turban. “Every one calls him Ball Digger and he just won’t accept it’s his name, what an arrogant dick”.

“Maybe it’s best if you just go with Ball Digger” The Constable said in a soft reassuring voice. “I don’t believe this, why would you say that?”

“Well the constable said, “I’m thinking there are people reading this and the guy writing it has to keep checking he got the spelling right, which is probably annoying, and then no one knows how to say it properly and it becomes that annoying name they just mumble in their head every time, never knowing if they ever really got it right. I mean you remember reading books right ? And seeing an awkward sounding characters name at the start and thinking “Bloody rubbish” I got to live with that for a while”

“yeah” Balljinder was feeling pummelled into submission. “So you’re saying this is going to be a book?” He questioned.

“It might be”

“movie tie-ins?”

“who knows”

“But the writer doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen, he’s just writing as he goes, probably with his trousers round his ankles”

“probably” the Constable agreed “I know what you’re saying but we will just have to see. In the meantime there is a man in Rotherhithe and he’s fallen over. Do I have a team for this” The Constable raised his voice to generate some enthusiasm in the task.

“I’ll get my keys…Let’s go” said Ball Digger.

HYDE AND SIKH in a Mysterious Mystery(filler title while i work out what the hell is going on)...Part 1

2012-01-08T16:52:00.000-08:00

Hyde and Sikh

1. Hyde

It was not a good time to be alive. Hyde would stare at the moon and kick an imaginary can in frustration as he thought about all the injustice in the world. As the wind blew gently, indifferent to his torment. Once a few months back, when particularly aggrieved with the injustices of the world he missed the imaginary can and kicked the curb. That hurt pretty bad and in frustration Hyde pulled out his gun and tried to shoot the guilty leg. Failing to get a clean shot he arrested the leg and dragged himself to the station to dip it in a cell.

The times they were changing and Hyde was not willing to reset his Swatch. Even though his escapades with his own body had earnt him a transfer from his home in New York to Rotherhithe, a residential district in inner southeast London (and part of the London Borough of Southwark (Google). He was literally five hours late for work everyday. As I say he was not willing to reset his Swatch. Or accept the fact that he was in Rotherhithe. No one could tell Hyde what to do, he was a cop like they don’t make anymore. Ignorant, arrogant, misogynistic, he was all those things like the rest of them, but Hyde wore a moustache too. It was a big one; it looked as if he had stapled a cat to his face. Somehow this didn’t deter the woman in the bars who would swarm to him like flies to shit. Sensitive souls looking for a woman to share their lives with would sit in silent awe and watch as Hyde told woman after woman night after night that they meant less to him than a Hot Dog. And they cried into their ales as every night Hyde vacated the premises armed with ladies. His self-assurance served him well. This was a man who was angry at a world which was making the printed word redundant, whilst readily admitting with great glee that he had not once wasted his time reading a book.

“Hold up! Ball Digger who?” Hyde pulled out the cigarettes from his ears, he pointed one of them at Baljinder, “what is that?”

“That is your new partner, I want you to introduce yourself”

“Now chief you know I’m a plain talking guy, I just say what I see, no beating about the bush”

“Yeah I’ve noticed,” said the Constable taking one step closer to a Ham sandwich.

“Well that’s a coloured guy, and he’s not even black, do you know how confusing this is for a white American stereotype?”

(To be continued)

WHO AM I ? WHY AM I HERE ? WHAT IS MY REASON FOR BEING ?

2011-12-30T09:06:00.000-08:00

The notebook said on the front of it, “Life is what happens when you are busy making plans” I stood there for minutes trying to work out if I was supposed to buy the notebook or concentrate on living. After an hour I decided I didn’t want to be living in this way, so I bought the notebook, went outside ripped all the pages out and threw them in the bin.

Babak Ganjei 1

Post modernism 0

A MUSICAL INTERLUDE

2011-12-01T03:10:00.000-08:00

While my band Wet Paint are on mini hiatus I decided to record a bunch of songs with my friend Dan Michaelson operating production duties and making sure the microphones were on...It turns out they were on. Obviously when I do anything music related pirates go crazy with their piracy schemes, so I have released this song via Meerkat documentary....see you later Pirates xx

(if you like what you see/hear follow this page https://www.facebook.com/pages/Babak-Ganjeis-Loner-music/194810503935856)

(i know catchy address right?)

Bad moves

2011-11-30T02:51:00.000-08:00

BAD MOVES

“So you come here often?”

Nothing she just sat there in the circle facing out. Her focus seemed to be firmly set on the man opposite. Yeah ok so we weren’t exactly dating, but on the basis of proximity I was definitely closer to doing so and her staring was beginning to feel like borderline cheating. I tried to give the man opposite evils but he seemed to be crying into his lap.

“This blows, let me buy you a drink”

“No”

“Come on one drink won’t hurt”

“No”

“It’s only a drink, I’m not asking you to marry me”

“No”

“What if I asked you to marry me?”

“No”

“We’re not getting anywhere here, were not even going round in circles we’re sitting in a circle, it’s almost completely pointless”

“Ok one drink”

She got up swiftly, as I stood up slightly suprised with the success of my reasoning the weeping man also stood up.

“Hello My name is Dave and I have not had a drink now for nine days”

“Hang on” I whispered “I thought this was a singles club”

“it doubles for that” she said as she put on her sombrero “let’s go”

Reluctantly I picked up my sombrero

“Ok, but whatever happens we’re not getting married” I whispered.

THE WAY TO A GIRLS HEART

2011-11-29T03:07:00.000-08:00

The Way To a Girls Heart

The Doctor walked in with some news. “You’re as sick as a Parrot,” he said.

“Which one” I enquired. He had five side by side in a line up.

“The second one”

“From the left or the right”

“left”

I was relieved. That one didn’t look too sick. The second one from the right looked like he was having some sort of existential crisis.

“Do I need to take anything? “ I asked

“Is it still raining?”

I split an opening in the blinds with my fingers and looked out. “Yeah a little”

“Then take this” he handed me an umbrella.

The Nurse left the room. Sure it was a bit of a cliché but I’d fallen in love with the nurse. Hey, it’s my prerogative. Sure, maybe I don’t know what I mean when I say, “It’s my prerogative”, but sometimes it’s cool to say things that just sound good. Chances are the listener doesn’t know what you mean either, and in that case you win by looking smart. Because they will presume you know what you mean. It’s called language gambling. The only problem this time was that I said it in my head and I didn’t understand it, so I had to concede to a stalemate. It’s an unnerving feeling failing to understand your own inner monologue, and often an indication that it’s time to take up an evening course.

We had been in the same room for over one minute. That’s usually long enough for an FBI agent to track a persons whereabouts from a phone call, and it’s long enough for me to perform my special skill of projecting my own ideas of who a person is and falling in love with them. I was practically welling up about forty second into the time we spent together when recalling a moment in her childhood, which hadn’t happened. It was similar to something that hadn’t happened to me in my own upbringing. It was clear to me we were a perfect match, like cheese and onion.

She walked back in. The nurse was very good at exiting and entering rooms. Or at least this room in which I had now experienced the impact of both the exit and the enter, so I was qualified to judge on both counts. I plucked up the courage to approach her and tell her a joke to break the ice. I opted for the Horse Whisperer joke, because it’s the only joke I know, I had written it myself. Also I’d put it in a blog post once to which nobody paid attention. I’m not bitter, but believe me it deserved better, and I was going to prove it I was convinced it was funny and there is nothing more attractive than a man acting on conviction. If I said it I could also mention it again in this post. Being a stubborn egomaniac I decided I was absolutely right in my thinking.

“What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Horse?”

“What?” she inquired.

“I’m sorry what?” I punchlined.

“What?” She inquired.

“I’m sorry what?” I punchlined, this time throwing in some gesticulation.

“What? She inquired, but this time delivering her one syllable with the suggestion that her time was being wasted.

“I’m sorry what?” I punchlined, this time flapping my arms though I did not know why.

The doctor nodded in approval as he scrawled something on his clipboard. The parrot with the crisis had begun compounding my jokes failure by repeating “I’m sorry what?” In quick succession. The Nurse left the room with the sort of strut, which suggested she had better things to do

“You get the joke don’t you” I asked the doctor.

“Yes” He said with a chuckle, which at least felt like a small consolation prize. The Horse is flapping his legs and pretending to be a bird so he doesn’t have to talk to the Horse Whisperer.

“What? No, a Horse can’t even move it’s legs to flap, they only go front and back”

“Yes I thought that was the funny bit”

“No”

“Then why were you flapping at all it’s very misleading?”

“Hey, it’s my prerogative” I paused to assess if the gamble had paid off.

“I always thought laughter was meant to be the way to a girls heart”

“It’s a way, but it’s a very indirect way” The doctor said. “Unless you are both laughing at another’s misfortune, you can’t beat a shared emotion”

He started to rifle through a draw

“This is a far more direct way” He pulled out a scalpel.

“I think I was talking in metaphor”

“Well” the doctor shook his head turning his back on me looking out the window. “I’m a man of medicine, I don’t speak in your flowery metaphors”

Said the man who diagnosed me as “sick as the second Parrot on the left”.

“Well I guess I’m off” I said to his back.

“Wait!” He threw a beanie at me “it’s getting worse out there”.

TOP TEN WORST CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR YOUR UNSUSPECTING LOVER

2011-11-28T02:39:00.000-08:00

1. ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSH
So you want to look like you care about someone's well being and all that, but it's early days maybe even minutes and there is no point making them feel self conscious about the state of their oral hygiene. To be honest it will look a bit weird that you had even noticed they would need help with such matters, considering you had never got to within five meters of them. The three extra heads are a nice touch but move on, or buy it for your own sorry mouth.

2.APRON
You can argue till the cows come home that this is half a dress, but on this occasion the cows are getting a cab and rushing back to save you, because it is what it is, and it's an apron. It's not wise to push your relationship to such a domesticated status before you have even found out there actual name. It takes all the sizzle out of it. Nobody wants an apron. Not even a stranger.

3.BOX SET

Are you a man? Or an Idiot? They don't need to know, don't make it obvious.

4. FILO FAX
Lots of things got invented in the 80's (Cranberry Juice) it's generally regarded as the decade in which the world really came into it's own. It's also a time when people learnt to help others(Live Aid) In that time the filo fax was regarded as the equivalent of a mans laptop. It reeked of aspiration. James Belushi even made a movie about one called Filo Fax. These days it's been reduced to a thing you rest a tv dinner on which you haven't even bothered to spoon into a plate. Save this for yourself.

5. FILO FAX
Ok so Charles Grodin is in it, but even if you bought this movie and an actual Filofax I can safely say you can kiss goodbye any potential romance. (though on IMDB it's the best rated Jim Belushi movie tied with Mr Destiny, but that at least has Michael Caine in it, and the Linda Hamilton from Terminator...they should have called the Teminator movies Mr Destiny(just a thought).

6. SEABASS
There's no way to really wrap this. Also it may be a Seabass (which makes you sophisticated) but most people won't identify that, they will just smell a parcel, and it's one thing for a gift to give its self away by its shape, smell: that's a different story. This gives itself away on both counts. Avoid.

7 THE BEST OF SCATMAN JON

Listen to it first, it's probably not as good as you remember it ( though it does include scatmambo and jazzology on it)

8. THE BIBLE

People think this has something to do with Christmas, it doesn't. Plus like the Thompson's Directory the text print is too small cos they tried to pack in so much story which makes it almost impossible to get past the first few pages without going cross eyed and taking a nap.

9.RAKE

If you're going to invest in anything like this, make sure your recipient has some outdoor space.

10.PRINGLES
Chances are they will share them with someone else.

Now you know what to not get, go get em!...

Not the items, the subjects of your affections

XX

Dear Vaillant Boiler Owner

2011-10-25T09:52:00.000-07:00

Another day of my life was passing, and on this one I had bought scourers, so in some respects it hadn’t been a complete waste. It may not have made for the greatest segment of an autobiography, but I’d told myself I would hold off on that until something a little more dramatic had happened to me anyway. Yes, with the pressure off, I could freely walk the streets, buy scourers, put them in a drawer and think about other household goods that would elevate my status as a mature functioning adult. I unscrewed the cap of a bottle of tequila, which was shaped like a hat, and poured a medium-sized glass. Shuffling through my pockets as I threw my coat onto the area of floor I had designated as a coat rack, I found yesterday’s item: a radiator key. Yes, for just one pound and forty-nine pence I had given myself the power to unlock air from nearly every radiator in the country. Only mature people would have one of these. I put it in the pocket of my jeans just in case I got invited to a dinner party and didn’t want to take my coat and when I was there a radiator needed bleeding. I was prepared. Yes, if someone needed an adult, well…hello. I placed the hat-shaped cap of the bottle on my head, shouted “arriba” and took a sophisticated sip from the glass.

I suddenly noticed a letter for me on the table. It was addressed to “Vaillant Boiler Owner”. I was so taken aback that the hat fell from my head and I didn’t notice for a good six or seven minutes. I had never been regarded as valiant. I didn’t know what it meant, but I was picturing something in the vein of the Three Musketeers, and I liked what I was thinking. I was disappointed with my admirer’s choice of font on the letter, and the fact that they had clearly exploited their company’s postal privileges to send me their passionate plea for unison. A love letter always looks more personal when handwritten or, if you want to go the whole hog, written in blood. But my day had so far solely consisted of obtaining scourers, so I wasn’t about to start going on about it. I decided to check the meaning of the word “valiant” on Google. I was delighted with the results, which confirmed my swashbuckling hopes: “boldly courageous, brave, stout-hearted, worthy, excellent”. And Google didn’t even know I had a radiator key in my pocket. Suddenly, every decision I had made in my life that had led me to this moment seemed absolutely one hundred percent the right thing to have done. Picking up the hat from the floor, I placed it back on my valiant head and decided to take another sophisticated sip.

Feeling a little overzealous and excited, I decided to do a Google image search to see what company I was keeping as a valiant type. I found a picture of Will Mellor. That’s right, Jambo from Hollyoaks. He was the cool one in Hollyoaks when it first aired in 1972. This was, however, just a consolation prize, as it had taken five pages of scrolling to get to him, and other than a picture of a bear eating a slice of watermelon, the other four pages were filled with ugly white rectangles with the word “Vaillant” on them. I looked at the letter again, and my heart sank. “Vaillant Boiler Owner” it said. Of course, my boiler is a Vaillant. I am simply “Boiler Owner” (though now I do also own a radiator key and scourers). The hat-cap fell off the side of my head in sympathy for my misunderstanding. I muttered “arriba” gently and took a slightly less sophisticated sip from the tequila. What was I thinking? Why would I have received such a letter? Unless someone had been impressed with my confidence in picking up cleaning goods in the local Sainsbury’s… And even then, how would they know where I lived? Even if they followed me, I’m in a gated mews, so they would have had to take a punt on the door number, and the odds on succeeding there would be worse than two to one, as there are ten houses in there. Yes, the more I thought about it the more ridiculous my initial reaction seemed. Unless of course they had sent the letter to all ten houses in the hope that at least one copy would reach me. I hadn’t ruled this out, as it would explain the generic typeface.

I opened up the autobiography I had put on hold and leafed through it, desperately looking for a valiant moment, but all I had were receipts for food. Where had my life gone so violently wrong? Why would anybody be impressed with this Alan Titchmarsh excuse for a man? Suddenly weighed down with personal rage, I decided to put things right. Perhaps my mistaking a boiler insurance policy letter for love would be the turning point my life needed. Maybe I could be valiant and make a statement of intent - a romantic gesture of immense magnitude. Rather than wait for a girl to confirm her interest to me in writing, I would go out there with my dusted-down boom box, stand outside her house and play something, like they do in films with happy endings. But who would this lucky girl be? I wrestled with my brain for two and a half seconds. Then I put on my shoes.

When I was at school there was a girl I loved with an intensity I have never fully realised again. I think her name was Sam. It felt like, within the small beach town mundanity in which we lived, we had found a connection as strong as a fridge magnet on a fridge. I always thought it was a shame our relationship was mainly conducted from no closer than ten metres. A fridge magnet rarely registers its connection from distances that great. For that you would need one of those industrial horseshoe shaped ones you get in cartoons. And we weren’t cartoons. We were REAL LIFE. I will never forget the day her bulbous blue eyes locked with mine while I was standing behind my friend Roland. It may sound stupid, but it was one of those moments when you think “this character is going to be a big feature in this movie I call Life, perhaps even an Oscar winner”. Based on her coat I presumed we shared an impeccable taste in obscure indie records nobody had ever heard. I loved that coat. She once didn’t wear it because it was really hot, and I walked straight past her without realising. She was an incredibly special specimen.

It’s not important how I ended up knowing where she now lived, sixteen years later in London, the capital city of England. Let’s just say we had a connection like a cactus spray-mounted on a basketball. I positioned myself outside a window and started flicking through a selection of CDs. It was important to get this right. I wanted to show I’d moved on from being the gawky kid wandering around the old town centre, so I wanted something that would reflect my progression into the adult world. I decided this would mean an instrumental piece. Yes, as an adult, I didn’t need words to tell me what a song was about. I could try and crack the saxophone code. I went to art school. I reflected on what I had learnt there: that everything is subjective, and I can understand everything the way I want because it’s what I want to understand. I think this is what I understood to be correct. I opted for the long version of the Taxi Driver theme tune. I toasted the air and took a sophisticated sip from the bottle of Tequila. I removed my poncho and hoisted the boom box above my head. The problem with these instrumental songs is that they take a long time to really kick in. I could feel my arms shaking as the main motif began to finally introduce itself. But it was working - the window opened, and a head peered out. And it was the girl who might have been called Sam.

“Who are you?” She asked seductively.

I was bamboozled. I hadn’t though this through, but I now realised it was probably pointless to give my name as though we were close. It wouldn’t mean anything to her anyway. I opted for sexy.

“Who do you want me to be?” I shouted.

“Robert Pattinson”, she replied, with almost no time to think.

“Okay, I’m Robert Pattinson”, I shrieked, as the weight of the boom box finally became unbearable.

“Why are you playing scary music out there? Do you have any Tinie Tempah? He’s always on the radio.”

“Tinie Tempah?” I thought to myself. This wasn’t the kind of music that coat would listen to.

“I’m really sorry, this is an old boom box, it isn’t a digital radio.”

“He’ll be on the normal radio.”

“Okay, let me check.” I was happy to check, because it meant I could finally put the boom box down. Unfortunately, it didn’t have an FM setting, and after a few minutes of whizzing around white noise, I settled on a sports debate on Talk Sport.

“I’m sorry”, I said sexily. “You’ll just have to make do with this.”

“Well, thanks for trying”, she said, clearly impressed with my tuning skills. “I’m going to shut the window now. My heating’s gone, and the house is getting cold.”

“Wait!” I screamed as the window came smashing down.

“I have a radiator key…”

THE TROUBLE WITH BEING A "DEEP GUY"

2011-10-18T03:17:00.000-07:00

PHOTO OF AN EXCEPTIONALLY 'DEEP GUY' /this was a bad time, it looks like a man whose going to have a breakdown and heartattack at the same time, thanks for capturing it JON BAKER

I stepped outside and looked up into a clear blue sky, it’s a good day, I nodded to myself. Or is it? I always question everything. It’s one of the burdens of being a “Deep Guy” The sun suddenly starts to pierce my eyelids and I stare down into the ground as I struggle to get my focus back. Why is the sunshine regarded as such a positive force I think to myself? It’s not trustworthy. I mean how can I trust something I can’t even look in the face? If the sun were a human being it would not be my friend. He/She would be giving me evils for the whole night as I desperately squirm around looking for some focus away from He/She’s glare. Why must he/she be so angry with her/his penetrating heat and glaring light? Clearly the sun had some unresolved issues from its childhood, why had it chosen me to punish? Well I just don’t know. But hey, when you’re a “Deep Guy” and consistently sensitive to the communal anxieties that form what we call a “society” you tend to be the first to get your eyes burnt. I can sniff out tension in a room like some people can smell dog shit on a shoe. I can also smell dog shit on a shoe. I have often been complimented on the versatility that comes with my sense of smell. As I stood bent down trying to regain some composure, I had already decided that though the street looked very pleasant and the people looked nice in their fewer clothes than usual, something just was not right. As a “Deep guy” it’s difficult to appreciate anything simply on it’s aesthetic value and yeah maybe that makes you a bit of a stick in the mud on the majority of a hundred percent of occasions, but hey, that’s the price you pay for always being right. Finally the black dots were clearing up and my vision began to come to. In the near distance I could hear the weeping of a small child, I was half sure the child was a girl. My eyes were now following a dried urine trail on the pavement and slowly weaving in and out of that was a new white liquid. I looked to my left to find the rest of a 99 sitting slowly fading into this flirty dance with a piss trail. I picked out the Flake. I could only imagine an over zealous lick had pushed the body of the Ice Cream away from its cone base and onto the floor. I’m no detective but this must have been what happened. But who could explain the Ice Creams desire once free; to so openly flirt with another mans discharge? What we were looking at here was the equivalent of the Nabokov story Lolita. The vigour and youth of the agile young ice cream slipping and sliding between the stale smelly stagnant old mans weakness, seducing and illuminating his sense of worth. This may be an inaccurate description of the book. I have to admit I haven’t read it. But I could tell from what I was looking at, it wasn’t going to end well and so crossed it off my reading list instantly. I suddenly jumped my head out of my musings and focused back on the weeping girl. I had to hold back my own tears, as a “Deep guy” the disappointments of melting Ice Cream, along with other forms of child torture like bursting balloons had always killed me. If there was a God clearly he was a bully for creating such possibilities for childish despair, and having spent time trying to get on with some bullies in my life I didn’t have any left for a giant invisible one. I handed the girl the Flake and tried to smile, “five second rule” I said and patted her on the head. I turned around wiping a small tear from my cheek, and walked away like a hero. Within seconds it dawned on me by turning around I was walking back on myself. I’d be back in my flat in within seconds. Not wanting to look like a “Deep Guy” who didn’t know where he was going I decided to combine my amending the mistake with a little education for the young mind. It wasn’t hard for me; the incidents of the last three minutes had really pissed me off. And even though he doesn’t exist, me and God, well we were finished. I approached her “and another thing” I said like Columbo, before denouncing any possibility of God’s existence. I asked if she understood what I was saying. She pulled the Flake that was dangling from the corner of her mouth like a Cuban cigar out and puffed. “God’s an Ass,” she said. I was pretty sure I had spoken with more fluency than this, but I couldn’t argue with the sentiment of her summarisation. Job done. I shook her hand and said “All the best”. I wasn’t sure why I did that. I turned like a hero. I decided this time to acknowledge the existence of the child’s father. I went to shake his hand but he was not so keen. It transpired the Ice Cream was never hers and he was not very happy with me picking up random chocolate off the floor and putting it into her daughter’s mouth. I apologised and tried to turn like a hero. As I walked the five steps back to my flat I realised I was outside the Catholic school I had applied for on behalf of my son. I wondered if this would affect his application.

Top Ten Adam Sandler RomComs That Never Saw The Light Of Day

2011-10-17T03:39:00.000-07:00

The Window Cleaner

Adam Sandler plays David Sprockett a window cleaner with a difference. He has a fear of the outdoors, so he only cleans the inside windows. He strikes a bond with one of his clients Belinda (Eva Mendes) while cleaning in her flat. With her help he learns to embrace the streets. Soon he finds himself making double the money as he can now clean both sides of the windows. With his newfound wealth he dumps Belinda only to realise the error of his ways when he locks himself out his house.

Fill Her UP

Adam Sandler plays Louis Dilbert a simple Gas Pump Attendant who dreams of becoming a Petrol Station Manager. His life plans are turned upside down when he falls in love with a girl who has one of those electric cars (Drew Barrymore). Suddenly Louis has to ask himself the big question…”Is there more to life than petrol?”

The Graduate

Adam Sandler remakes the Graduate, and does it in one of his trademark funny voices. Co-starring Honour Blackman.

No Pleasing Pleasin

Adam Sandler plays Frank Girdle, a nice guy who gets stuck in a lift with a girl called Pleasin. And there’s no pleasing Pleasin.

Another Mans Shoes

Adam Sandler plays Bobby Bickford a sports journalist who wakes up after a party in another mans shoes. As he tries to retrace his steps he comes across a kind substitute teacher Jane Druidzky (Michelle Pfieffer). But is she the wife of the man whose shoes he is wearing? And where are his shoes? And why would there have been a situation in which this mix up could happen?

Let’s Not Talk About It

Larry Larry(Adam Sandler) has an incredible fear of Skateboards. On top of this he can read the thoughts of woman. One day he falls in love with a pianist, his fear of skateboards will never really come up until roughly seven years into their relationship when she greets it with mild bemusement. Because he can read her mind he is relieved she really doesn’t care about this in the slightest. In the Romantic Comedy critics are labelling” mildly pointless”.

I’m In Love With Your Shadow

Shandy McShane is a social misfit; he can’t bring himself to talk to anyone, and longs to live in another time. The time of silent films. His obsessions with his heroes Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin begin to border on the uncontrollable as he loses himself in a world of mime and theatrical performance. To complicate things further he falls passionately in love with the shadow of an undercover cop… and she’s never standing still!

Bad Timing

At the funeral of his wife Chuck Jewder (Adam Sandler) finds himself falling madly in love with a long lost friend of his wife Sally Bloom (Jennifer Anniston). Only it turns out Sally is at the wrong Funeral, and never even knew his wife. Chucks friends try and point out that the fact she wasn’t his wife’s friend doesn’t make it fair game, at least not on Funeral day. But hey in the words of Chuck “when the heart speaks it also sticks it’s fingers in its ears and opens its mouth and goes ahhhhhhhhh”

The Really Happy Guy

Bradley Bixley (Adam Sandler) is a really happy guy, the kind of guy who plays the lottery every week and has never won a cent but says,”It’s not about the winning it’s all about the taking part”. One day he falls in love with Raquel form work (Lindsey Lohan) and slowly his life turns to hell.

I’ll Meet Me In Ten Minutes

In this Hilarious period drama Buxton Conroy (Adam Sandler) plays the first guy to get a mobile phone in the late 1980s. As he desperately tries to rearrange set plans he made with his girlfriend from the week before he realises he is the only person on the other line. The phone breaks them apart, as he no longer can stick to a planned arrangement. Until ten years later when he calls a wrong number and it’s her on the line. Can the thing that broke them apart bring them back together?

TOP TEN HALLOWEEN OUTFITS ON A BUDGET

2011-10-06T02:20:00.000-07:00

If you know me, and why wouldn’t you I’m posting insightful personal comments about myself on every social network site every five minutes, then you can probably imagine I have a deep passion for dressing up. If you’re like me you too are also waiting on a life-changing sum of money, which will arrive as soon as the appropriate party realizes you're a genius. But hey time waits for no one; so while you’re waiting for that loser to show up don’t get caught out. Halloween is around the corner and you can still make an impact, without breaking the bank. Here are some ideas for you…

1. SECRET SHOPPER

This is quite a simple look to pull off, and also it being a secret if anybody asks you what you have come as you just tell them you can’t say as it would “breach company policy”.

2. THE INVISIBLE MAN

This one really hinges on how popular a person you are. In terms of outfit you don’t really need to do anything but probably avoid a sombrero.

3. A CYCLIST

Borrow a helmet from a friend and put it on. Most people can ride a bike so it won’t be too difficult to get your hands on one.

4. DREAMER

Go to the party with a little more positive an attitude than usual

5. BUSKER

Take a guitar and position yourself in a corridor. I once did this, I broke a girl’s heart with a rendition of Michael Buble’s “Haven’t met you yet” and I made 82p.

6. THE GUY WHO WASHES YOUR HANDS IN THE TOILET IN A CLUB

Everybody has a waistcoat! Now wear it and stand in the toilet, working for yourself you can keep all the leftover lollipops.

7. OFF DUTY SUBSTITUTE TEACHER

See the instructions for the Invisible Man outfit; it’s the same principle.

8. ALCOHOLIC

This is quite simple, your outfit is really quite simple, you can go as you are; just make sure you are incredibly funny and bubbly when you get in. Then remember to turn into a complete asshole about an hour later.

9. MATTHEW MCCONAUGHAY

Take your top off

10. NUDIST

It’s a more extreme version of the Mcconaughay outfit, often people who go as the Alcoholic will find themselves slipping into this character later in the evening.

HELP! GETTING PAST STEP ONE( When in a Bar)

2011-09-28T03:10:00.000-07:00

If you’re in a bar and across the room a girl smiles at you, a beautiful girl with voluminous hair, blue eyes, full of the joyous possibilities that come with youth, the chances are she’s smiling at that guy Troy behind you. Before you’ve realised this you’ve had your life affirming Inner Snow Patrol track tingling through your insides as for two seconds you remember what that feeling is that doesn’t happen too often. That powerful feeling that makes you look at the trousers you are wearing that you thought looked shit suddenly look ok again. That’s right it’s a feeling called love. Yay! Your return smile has turned into an inane toothy grin. Your attempt at a wave is bordering on a Nazi salute and In a panic you turn around inadvertently smothering yourself in Troy’s pecks. He doesn’t appreciate this (he does really, never trust pecks). Squawk like a duck and move on. Sure it’s upsetting that the girl that you did not know who was probably more than likely the “One” will now never talk to you. But hey some times life throws you lemons. Make sure you take the lemons home and make yourself some lemonade, it’s generally frowned upon to make your own drinks in a bar, unless the bar staff are particularly unambitious.

Now what makes Troy so great? He looks a bit plastic, and he doesn’t seem to have a lot to say, sure you are judging him simply based on appearance and the moments you spent in his chest but honestly that’s fine because Troy is an idiot. You on the other hand are a serious artist who feels great depths of emotion aka self-loathing. Ok so it’s been scientifically proven that self-loathing is not sexy and this is termed as a “turn off”, try and keep it in check. It’s one of the cruelties of the world that being self aware and ready for impending doom is not a desirable quality. This is why Troy without even being aware of what he is doing is a massive success, ignorance breed’s success; it’s a fact of the world... The trick to any good relationship is to never tell the truth. Everybody knows that. If you’re looking for someone to love you for who you are you will probably end up with an ape. Troy can communicate with a few well-timed shrugs from his chiselled physique but like most of us you will need to pick out some words. It’s handy to have a variety of words. A professional chatter up man will have at least twelve different words at his disposal, not including the joining up words. It’s rarely appropriate to use the word hate in this situation so that’s one word you can eliminate from needing to know if that makes things easier. So when Troy has got his drink and moved on because he is so ignorant he has failed to realise this amazing lady is ready to pounce on him, brace yourself. You’re going to make your move.

Leave your drink at the table, that way it will be less obvious your shaking. Now go and get all the information out in as pithy a way possible. It’s important to get her sympathy quickly; sympathy is a key to many longstanding relationships. You also want to look distraught over something; girls like a project, but you also want to look strong, like you can hold down a mortgage. Remember you don’t need to tell the truth. You head to the bar and before she has even acknowledged you say this.

“I can’t believe my Horse died today, still at least my cat’s ok in the house I just paid the mortgage payment for on time”.

Nice!

Now move on. She is so consumed by the information Troy is all but a distant memory now, you have cast your spell. I mean your Horse just died! Suddenly Troy’s perfectness just makes him look spoilt. You can’t argue with true love, it will always find it’s way, and now it’s found you.

When you meet at the corner of some moonlit street with intrepedation filling the air, for you are both about to start what may become a pivotal chapter in the rest of your lives it’s advisable to not bring a Watermelon as a gift. It’s too big. If you do, at least insist on carrying it. It doesn’t matter if it’s for her. YOU carry it.

We can deal with those issues later, when you have mastered the first bit.

THE HORSE WHISPERER

2011-09-23T02:14:00.000-07:00

I'll probably drag this out and make it into a film.

THE HORSE WHISPERER

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?

“Alright Mate I’m the Horse Whisperer”

What did the Camel Say to the Horse Whisperer?

“I’m not a horse"

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?

“This job ain’t easy”

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer?

“How did you get into this line of work anyway?”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?

“I’m trying to get over a girl”

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer ?

“I don’t see the correlation”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel

“I guess it’s nice to be understood, and to feel like you made a connection, with someone”

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer?

“Yeah but a Horse?”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel

“You can’t help who"gets you"

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer

“Are you sure they get you?”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?

“Yeah I feel like they really do”

What did the camel say to the Horse Whisperer?

“Look there is a Horse!”

What did the Horse whisperer say to the Camel?

“Oh I see the difference now, well I guess I got work to do”

What did the Horse say to the Horse Whisperer?

“I’m sorry what?”

SO YOU'VE CHOSEN A LIFE AS A POET

2011-09-19T02:17:00.000-07:00

So you've chosen a life as a poet huh? We can't all be poets you know. Some of us have got what it takes and some of us doesn't.

I'm sorry, what can I say? I guess I'm just one of the lucky ones. If we were all good enough to be poets no one would be up to turn on the self checkout machines in Tesco's. Then the world would explode. I mean yeah, I can appreciate it's annoying for you that not only can I connect with the human psyche so naturally and tell you exactly how to feel, but I also have the balls and fighting skills to smash in any fool who upsets my woman. I can see that, it seems unfair, but you will find your "special purpose" and if your lucky it won't be minimum wage. Anyway if you are going to take the misguided step and try, here are some examples of award winning poetry. I won the best poet in my house in the early hours of Monday morning prize. My flatmate Jon is going to present me the prize in the morning when I tell him I won it.

Do You Want To Go and Feed The Ducks

They said

“Your so funny, don't go changing”

I said

“Ok, but I don't feel that great”

They said

“we know, but that's what makes you so funny”

I said

“Ok, do you want to go feed the ducks?”

They said

“Not today”

I Went To Ikea Once

I went to Ikea once

I bought a hot dog, and a coffee

The coffee was crazy hot,

I put ketchup on the hotdog

and mustard

or at least I think...

It was mustard

It was white

I ate the hot dog............

….....................................

in silence..........................

….....................................

next to a man

eating a hot dog in …...

…...........silence............

I cursed the coffee

It was crazy hot

I wouldn't be drinking that for an hour.

I walked through the ailes of Ikea

I looked at rugs

and candles

and bathroom scales

and I thought

…

one day,

one day I will have a house.

Bad Director

I have dreams when I'm awake

They are better when I'm awake

I have full editorial control on them

The guy directing my dreams when I'm asleep

He's a dick

A Conversation I'm Having

“Did you learn your lesson?”

I made the same mistake again

“well, that happens”

yeah

all the time

“well, as long as your always learning”

yeah but

clearly I'm not?

“Ok, Bye”

Ok so now you know how it's done, guess I'll see you at the next poets read off. Goodnight. x

HOW I LOST SCARLETT JOHANSSON

2011-09-15T08:05:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago when I was ten years younger than I am now things looked pretty good. My body was still willing to accept cigarettes as dinner and so I was, without wanting to sound vain as lean as a Jaguar, Or some other jungle cat. I was spending my days at Central Saint Martins making an incredibly important piece of Fine Art dubbing the entire Die Hard movie to a two hour still shot of some Cows grazing in a field. What was i trying to say? Who knew? Did I? Yes. Could I articulate it ? No.The evenings would be spent passionately tearing tickets, and placing people in their allocated seats at the Curzon cinema, around the corner. I was a master at this job, the fact that I never got promoted was scandalous, and I'm pretty sure people were talking about their disbelief behind my back as to not upset me. I could see the sadness in their eyes for me. What made me the best at my job was the way I made the customers feel reassured and at ease, I would look at the seat number on the ticket. then look them straight in the eyes and say "You have picked wonderful seats". If I was feeling flirty I might have thrown in "You must have been here before, because you have picked wonderful seats". Unfortunately knowing the seating system in the cinema was never as impressive to the ladies as the Doctor they were on the date with. So things never really worked out there.

One special evening at the Curzon we had a Q&A with the director and star of a new film called Lost In Translation. I hadn't really thought much about this event in it's build up. It's director was Sofia Copolla and I was never really a fan of The Godfather movies. I never really liked it when lots of guys got together, something always went wrong. It was too predictable. The star was Scarlett Johansson. I had recently heard her sultry voice in the Coen Brothers The Man Who Wasn't There, she seemed nice, but I hadn't thought too much of her either. As I walked down the stairs with a big bag of pre-popped popcorn I noticed Scarlett Johansson in the foyer. Quickly I emptied the bag into the machine and ran back upstairs. I was amazed with how ordinary she seemed. She was famous! Standing there in the foyer being normal. It almost seemed like she was approachable. I quickly tried to think of a variation of the "Wonderful Seat" line that was generating me so many smiles. It was useless though she was going to be on stage looking out into the audience, all I could come up with was "I'm sorry lady this is a terrible choice of a seat in a cinema, a)your blocking the screen and b) your facing the wrong way". That wasn't going to work. I was pretty sure about that.

It was too late I had to go back down to do my job of placing people in the correct seats before chaos erupted. As I got to near the bottom of the stairs she turned and looked at me. I froze for what felt like at least two solid seconds then ran back up the stairs. She liked me. I could feel it. One of her eyes had half caught a glimpse of me on my journey . Maybe she liked the way I went down the stairs, I had been working at the cinema a couple of years by this point, and if I say so myself I had got pretty good at going up and down the stairs. After a second to regain my composure I casually walked down the stairs again. She was still there, and this time she was looking in my direction with two eyes. I guess I was pretty good at walking down the stairs. In my youth the whole family would get together and watch Dynasty and I'm pretty sure my inspiration was coming from Crystal from that show, she walked down a lot of stairs at a lot of parties impressing a lot of people. That is what I was doing now, well I was until I hit the last step. I didn't really have a plan when I got to the last step. So I had to resort to my "classic" move. I stood motionless leaned my neck out to the left and created the illusion I was looking for something. Not just anything but something important, and tall. I gently rubbed the logo on the company shirt and bit my lip to add an element of severity. I looked to the right with the same severity. Whatever Tall thing I was looking for wasn't there, I was going to have to go back upstairs and come back down again. Lucky her.

When I got back upstairs my manager gave me a job which was effectively as good as getting a promotion. I had been entrusted with the job of transporting a latte for Sofia Coppolla and a Diet Coke for Scarlett Johansson. This was my moment. That moment when everything you were working towards comes together. I'm pretty sure the fact that she was famous and everyone was talking about her had nothing to do with the fact that within the last five minutes I had fallen completely in love with the woman. I collected the Latte and a can of Diet Coke. I got a glass and filled it with ice. Then I thought some people get funny with the ice levels in their glass. I couldn't work out how much ice a Hollywood person would require. So I picked up a second glass. One to transport ice, and one for her to place ice into as so desired. It still didn't look special enough. So I went in the kitchen and found a lemon. Lemon is classy. I didn't want to seem stingy with the Lemon so I picked up a knife and placed it on a plate. I figured what a gesture to be offered a whole lemon with your drink. Not just a fraction, I mean a Lemon costs like thirty pence, a slice of lemon is almost like spitting in her face. So I picked up a second lemon. It still didn't look quite right. Presentation counts for a lot especially in Hollywood. These people are special, and they are special because they don't just take things as they come. They always add garnish. So I rummaged around in the kitchen found a Basil leaf and placed it on top of the can. I walked through the auditorium doing the best I could to keep myself together, I would have tricked myself I was doing a good job if it was not for the clattering of my two glasses on the tray consistently mocking me. I walked past all the people who I had complimented for their “wonderful seats”. I got to the stage, the auditorium was dead silent. I placed a Latte by Sofia Copolla's table. I then walked round to Scarlet Johansson and placed the can with the basil leaf. The empty glass, the glass with ice, the lemon, the second lemon, and the knife. For some reason I bowed and said “Your Majesty”. Then walked back into the darkness.

She never called.

PLOTTING MY McDONALD'S FUNERAL

2011-09-04T02:26:00.000-07:00

Dear my Best Friend

I don't know who you are yet because this is the future, and we haven't actually lived it out, and so I apologise for not being more descriptive with the name bit at the top of this letter. I'm sure you can appreciate “best friend” to be a weighty accolade and for that reason I have chosen to not waste it willy nilly. So if you find yourself reading this, then it's you. As you know I am a very serious person, and I say and do what I mean. Which is why I do very little, though thinking about it I say a lot. So perhaps some discrepancies may prove apparent when you trace back through my life. If you're reading this then yes I'm dead. I'm not happy about it either, to be honest i'm pissed off.

I mean I was probably just sitting, just sitting and then poof I was gone. In a slow release gust of air, like releasing the air from a tyre. Not even a balloon which at least would have me do one last bit of flapping about before smashing into a wall. I was probably sat on the sofa watching David Dickinson's Real Deal. If this is the case can we please say I was in the middle of Fitzcarraldo. I've been meaning to watch a Herzog film for twelve years and let's face it knowing my luck I would have probably passed away the moment I finally got round to watching it. Typical. Also please remove the Twiglets, the bag is probably finished so just discard the evidence. No one needs to know about another's snacking. While I remember I should say I really appreciate you organising all this for me, I'm presuming my children are too successful and upset to be able to cope with giving me a fitting send off. You were always the one who knew me best and if your a girl I'm sorry if I ever squeezed your boobs,or even thought about doing it.

Here I have laid out the finer details for the event to make sure you too can enjoy what will be a memorable occasion. Remember chin up, and try and enjoy what is meant to be a festival of life.

9.00am ...Arrive at cemetery . Be greeted by a juggler. I could never Juggle. It's a fun word juggle and people don't usually say it at funerals. It will instantly lift the mood. Stand in line and get your face painted. I haven't actually spoken to the Face Paint people, but I'm hoping she can do a deal on funerals. There will be no restrictions on what face you choose. Except no sad clown faces, and no Elephants. My boy once asked for an Elephant and it doesn't really work. It kinda ends up looking like a giant penis on the side of your face. This isn't the occasion for that kind of toilet humour.

10.00am ...Breakfast will be served. I don't want to have peoples stomaches grumbling through the show. Hire a Hot Dog Vendor, make sure he has sauerkraut, and sauce. Also make sure he/she is well hidden behind a tree, all will be made apparent shortly.

10.15 ...We will gather by my tombstone. Times have been tough recently and to pay for it I had to get sponsorship so don't be alarmed by the McDonald's golden arches symbol that's been engraved into the stone. I agreed to that, though I did fight my corner and refused permission of the words “I'm lovin it” being written below. You would have been proud of me then. I really stood my ground there, and now I'm in the ground. Brilliant.

It's difficult to choose what would be a suitable song for the coffin going down. You can't really beat the emotional punch of Journey's “Don't Stop Believing” it truly is magnifique. Celine Dion's “My Heart Will go on” also feels like it has a suitably apt sentiment for the occasion.

11.00...Let my Uncle do his “Pick a card any card trick”, he needs the practice and an audience.

11.01...mobile disco

12.00...A man dressed as Ronald McDonald, hopefully the real Ronald McDonald will arrive to serve lunch. Happy Meals for everyone. Make sure your not all fobbed off with the same toys. Place the trays on top of the Tombstone a member of staff will be round to collect it later. I'm not sure how I feel about allowing McDonalds to sponser this party, I have to be honest about that. I grew up with Kurt Cobain teaching me to say no to advertising at all costs, (not that anyone was asking me), but nothing seems to really matter anymore and people forget about stuff anyway. So with the money I saved I bought myself an Ipad and took it down with me. You know, in case I wake up. Or reform, Or whatever might happen in the further future. I bought the most hi tech one so I won't be too out of the loop and able to catch up with eveything.

13.00...I've allocated an hour for lunch, but a McDonald's shouldn't really take you more than three minutes to eat. So I suppose just talk amongst yourselves. Transport should arrive to take you to the Bethnal Green branch where they have specially cordoned off an area for a slide show. Pick yourself up a drink and help yourself to a complimentary straw. I'm very pleased with the show I have put together, It is entitled “Things I Thought I might do” half of it is stills from Fitzcarraldo, but don't worry there is a spoiler alert.

Ok now go to the pub.

How To Be A Great Single Parent -3 - How To Make Friends

2011-09-01T02:16:00.000-07:00

photography by Jon Baker

It's an Urban myth that all single parents meet at karaoke bars. Some of them go swimming. I've been thumbing through my book “Be A Great Single Parent” now for a few weeks and I've read a few sentences, and can confirm that the book is correct. Not every performer at the Karaoke bar I went to was a single parent. In fact I got the feeling maybe I was the only one. Regardless I stood firm and emoted with a heartbreaking and dare I say it inspirational rendition of that song off Glee. When it ended I looked up into the empty room. I was definitely the only single parent in this Karaoke bar. I looked into the stage lights which momentarily blinded me, bringing with it a sense of disorientation. “Is there anyone out there” I said as I tried to get my sight back. In the distance I heard a mans voice. “No” he said. It must have been the swimming day.

As I walked home I thought to myself “what am I doing?” Do I really want to find another single parent who shares the same confusions and problems that I face? Someone I could talk to and would accept the weight of my responsibilities, because she would be faced with the same issues. No way. That sounds frumpy. I'm still young(I'm not) I still have some hope for the future(I don't). I'm still hip with the kids (I still dress like a child). Then my thoughts went back to the cashier at the Bookshop where I bought the book Teach Yourself How To Be A Great Single Parent. I may have mentioned her in previous instalments. She definitely looked like she felt sorry for me when I placed the book in her hands. If your playing the long game to a ladies heart, this probably isn't a bad start. At least she feels something. So I thought maybe I will head back there. Before the momentum is totally lost.

You see it's not easy to meet new people when you're a single parent, people are usually outside and you will find you spend most of your time inside. Rarely do they just knock on the door. Sometimes they do but usually they want to read your gas meter, and they rarely seem to want to stick around once they've done it. This is why the internet becomes such a useful tool for making friends. Luckily I have my trusty handbook and I have studied the chapter, “How To Make Friends On The Internet”. Good thing too because apparently it's a dangerous world. Who knew you were not supposed to give your address out in the initial exchanges. My trademark introductory line of “Hi I'm Babak I live at number 5 Winkley street, where do you live ?” is now made virtually redundant. It goes on to warn you that people in cyberspace are not real friends, they are virtual friends, and in the virtual world people who say they are Barbara might really be Syd. When you arrange to meet Barbara and Syd shows up he will probably try and fob off the surprise as a misunderstanding due to his inability to speed type. To be honest as useful as it sounds it could be it starts to feel more trouble than it's worth. The book suggests that instead of actually talking to virtual people perhaps use the internet to look up a nice salsa dancing or pottery class. It doesn't suggest going back to the bookshop and trying to have a conversation with the lady that might pity you.
Now I'm not saying that, that's what I did, I don't want anybody getting the wrong idea here. All I'm saying is if you do go back into the shop while your mum and child sit in the car waiting, look assertive. If you know where things are in the shop head straight for self help and find a copy of Teach Yourself How To Chat Up Woman, give it a once over and avoid getting caught reading it. Don't do this.

Handsome Stranger: “How hot is your coffee?”

Lady with Pity: “It was hotter before”

Handsome Stranger: “It's cooled over time”

Lady with Pity: “Yes it has”

There's nowhere you can go from here. If you have a moustache you can shave and try again. If you don't you can grow one and try again, but this way round takes a little longer.

It's not easy being alone when you're not really alone, you have your child and he is your primary focus. It's hard to be free, easy and available. There are single people growing and shaving moustaches on a daily basis asking girls out who can actually go out. The other single parents will understand this. So maybe ask your mum if she can stay in the car with your child for a few more hours. Head back to the karaoke bar and listen to another broken mans rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” and gently weep to yourself. When he is finished give him a hug take the mic and break out “Waterloo”.

Hopefully he will stick around till you finish.

A Preview From The Next Book(aka Look Mum I Done Work)

2011-08-25T04:06:00.000-07:00

Everybody is talking about my next book, it gets really annoying. I can't step out the door anymore without some sort of hassle. It's pretty much destroying my social life. Anyway if you know me you know that regardless of the wreckage it produces I'm a serious artist who puts in a good half hour a day. Here is a preview for the next book which will probably be called "Deep And Tortured". That pretty much sums it up... Oh and if you didn't know you can still buy Hilarious Consequences, At Foyles, Orbital and Gosh in London or on our website here...recordsrecordsrecordsrecords.com				03:51:00	by Babak Ganjei	Delete
	Edit	View	How To Become A Great Sin

How To Become A Great Single Parent: Part 2-Riot Special

2011-08-11T13:45:00.000-07:00

photography by Jon Baker

Take a look at your child’s face. Maybe when he's sleeping, then he won't ask you for stuff. He looks pretty nice. Now shut your eyes and push yourself ten years into the future. It's hard to imagine this child will probably stumble home drunk and puke on your face mistaking you for a toilet bowl. Ah, you can't beat a projected memory. Now move forward another five, it's hard to imagine this little furry bundle air chewing in his sleep, who once awake will be totally dependant on you, will never phone you again. In the past he may have phoned, to ask for money, but this is the future and if recent events have proved anything it's that kids today are independent free thinking creatures who know what they want and know how to get it. In my day I had to save up my pocket money to buy a thousand frozen pasties from Gregs. “You can keep your money Granddad” they will say when you try and give em a fiver to buy a paper. “But I'm your Dad” you will reply. Man, kids in the future are stupid.

Now the riots that have taken place over the last few days have taught me a lot. Most significantly my responsibility as a parent. You can imagine my smugness, that only the other week I had purchased a copy of “Teach Yourself: How To Be a Be a Great Single Parent”. And let it be noted nearly made a cashier lady feel sorry for me. Result. Over the last few weeks I'd placed the book next to my bed and I could feel the information seeping into my brain as I slept. I woke to find myself definitely slightly greater a parent than when I was sleeping every time. However since recent events it felt like it was time to take action.I opened the book and scanned the acknowledgements, and I was impressed with the list of image credits considering disappointingly there are only two, and they are on the front and back covers. Everyone knows a good book needs a picture in the middle for light relief from all the reading. In this instance I would suggest something like...

“and here are what some single parents could look like...”

This gives the reader a goal to reach. I don't know what these publishers are thinking sometimes.

I switched on the TV which is like a book but with moving images, and commercials. Some argue that this isn't true, but it's unadvisable to dunk either in a bath and so this proves effectively they are the same. I watched in horror as little hooded munchkins terrorised the city. At first It seemed there was a political message being thrown out onto the streets, but it slowly diluted to a chavvy version of Supermarket Sweep. Were people who unfortunately couldn't think beyond their own surroundings started stealing from their own community and neighbours. Trying to be a great single parent I had to switch off the television, I decided I should go check where my own four year old was before I found him on the news coming out of a Clintons with a box of get well soon cards. Luckily I caught him just on his way out.

I suppose when Channel 4 commissioned the first Big Brother or when Simon Cowell began the X Factor they failed to register the idea that kids will continue to be born, and that they will be bought up with the understanding that every talentless individual has a right to realise their dream. If they are criticised they are allowed to shout back. I mean the X Factor is really bad advert for the respect kids have for their elders. You have your judges who I guess represent some sort of wisdom, they tell you that you are shit and then you retort with Fuck you and stomp off. Sometimes you need to accept your shit. It's hard, I know, I've been trying to for years, and finally I'm coming to terms with it. There have been too many years of people being told they can have what they want, and it isn't true. Johnny Depp can have what he wants. Most people have to work at things to realise a fraction of their dreams. I wouldn't be surprised if some bright spark in television world comes up with some sort of looting game show in the vein of the Krypton Factor.It would make for a great obstacle course round. I guess that's the problem it's opportunism on every level. I can't talk as I try and flog my bits of crap on e-bay for as much money as possible, when they would be happier suited in a tip. Everybody has been trying to squeeze out something from nothing for too long.

So I'm just gonna sit here and look at my child’s face while he sleeps and dreams about the stuff he wants.Carefully I will place a dictionary by his bed and fingers crossed he will at least demand it with eloquence.

Bad Party Vibes

2011-08-02T05:54:00.000-07:00

“We come into this world alone, and we die alone.” A man said that to me once . I think he had got it from a film. But he nodded to himself and spat out his cigarette and faced me with a look of beleaguered experience. As if to suggest he had somehow already made this momentous round trip on his own, and come back to spread the disappointing news. It seemed an inappropriate moment to ask him where he had got his hat from. It was nice. It's hard to look like an authentic cowboy in London. I wanted to suggest all the tragic circumstances where people haven't died alone. All the Tsunami's, the earthquakes, road accidents, the 9/11's. But I got distracted thinking one day all those words plurulaised will make for most innappropriate band names. To be honest I really didn't want to be talking about death at all. So I just kept quiet and took a sip off my juice. As a rainbow coloured balloon slowly drifted past us I felt tempted to ask the cowboy how he'd got his invitation. But he burried his head in his hands and seemed to start weeping, the way real men know how to weep. My son came over and blew a party whistle into his face. I looked at him and thought, this is the last time we hold a kids birthday party in a cemetery.

HOW TO BECOME A GREAT SINGLE PARENT

2011-07-21T13:22:00.000-07:00

People say you drink to forget, does it work? I don't know, in some ways maybe yes. I drank and forgot my name, I drank and forgot my address I drank and forgot to blow out the aromatic candles I bought, in my life defining attempt at change. But the drinking never seemed to remove the empty feeling that comes with accepting that the ladies gone. Don't worry she's not dead, she's just stepped over to the right, just that little bit out of reach. A lot of people say “you should go for a run, it will make you feel better”. So I drank a lot and went for a run, these people should explain that the two things are not designed to be done in tandem. They should also point out that when you go for a run you need to leave your house. I woke up hours later muscles and limbs bruised and swollen almost three metres from the sofa where I had begun. Cursing my Converse for they really are not an adequate running shoe. I finished the wine I had left in my glass and thought...”something needs to change”.

Though there is an argument that being a good single parent means making sure you have angled the cigarette smoke away from your childs face, there are a couple more things you can do. That is if you want to become a GREAT single parent. It's often tough to commit to such aspirations but come on. You've hit an all time low. If your going to fail and disappoint yourself, why not get it all done in one fell swoop? The first step to becoming a GREAT single parent involves going to a reputable bookshop and buying the book “Teach Yourself How To Be a Great Single Parent”. This book is the most suitable thing in the shop for telling you what you may need to know on this subject. Ideally take your child to the bookshop with you, this way you are inviting strangers into your world just by holding the book with the ridiculously indiscreet title. At least if anyone hot is in the shop they will understand your available. One of the downsides of being a single parent is that your child usually gives the impression that you are far from single. You don't need to feel guilty about seeking attention, of course you are still distraught over your break up, it's just nice to get some attention. There' a a six in ten chance if anyone did speak to you, you'd probably fart then cry and that would be that. Without your child you may look like a weirdo reading up on the subject so your prepared in case it happens in the future. That's a weird thing to prepare for. As I say there are few opportunities as a single parent to really flaunt yourself, so don't waste this opportunity. Make sure everyone you want to know, knows you are definitely buying that book.

Hopefully you haven't had to wait an hour for the most passable member of staff to be available to serve you. Place your book on the counter and sigh. If your lucky she may say something like “I'm sorry” and if your lucky you will say “don't be, it's a positive beginning rather than a painful end”. You will hopefully have read this on page four of the book when you were flicking through earlier. Leave with your head held high believing you've walked out with her saying to herself “I've just met the next Erin Brokavich”. Don't think about the fact that you took no contact details. Now when you get home stick the kid in front of the TV and begin improving yourself. Now most people know that there is nothing in these books that you don't already know. Also everyone knows that they will hate to identify with anything which is written for mass appeal. Who wants to realise that their depressing break up is the same as a million other break ups. No thanks. Open the book read the words you like...Denial, control,Anger...all great words. The book is definitley not a waste of money. Just read the words in the order you choose and take from it what you want to understand. Remember your free now, the book is not the boss of you. Occasionally you may read a sentence with the words in the order they were intended to be read in. You may find yourself relating to what it says and weeping uncontrollably. If you find this happens a lot you may need to go back and pick up the sister book titled, Teach Yourself How To Cope With The Book Teach Yourself How To Be A Great Single Parent. When purchasing this one you may look a little mentally unstable. Also you don't want that staff lady to think bad of you, so at least throw in a text book on contaminated water ( I'm sure that is something that exists). If that girl knows her Erin Brokavich this will no end seal the deal and your wussy book will slip into the bag unnoticed. She may write her number on your arm, try not to walk out in a fart trail.

Part two will follow when I read the rest of the book...

Another Life Lesson Learnt Too late

2011-07-15T09:40:00.000-07:00

The other day I was receiving important instructions before I began an important job doing the night shift serving Jaeger bombs to thirsty people. While receiving these instructions the instructor stopped and said "why do you smell funny?" This worried me, it's difficult to answer. I said "What can you smell?" She said "fish". Now I've recently become a single and broken embittered man and my brain isn't working as well as it should, regardless it was instantly clear to me that smelling like fish was not a proven good look. I had arrived at my work which was very important having eaten a piece of Haddock but in this moment it felt it would be terrible to admit that. Instead I chose to look confused, and plead total confusion as to why I should have this stench attached to me. She replied ambivalently with "Oh I thought maybe you had come from a barbecue". It suddenly dawned on me it would be Ok to admit to having eaten. It would definitely beat being the guy who smells fishy for no reason. I thought about this all the way through my important job satisfying the people, I didn't let it distract me as I am very good at my important job. But I learnt a lesson that honesty is the best policy on some occasions.

Dating With Sainsbury's

2011-07-12T07:48:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody this is Carrie Bradshaw you know the one from Sex And The City, I drink cocktails with my sassy pals and talk about people's penises. Hang on is that a word? What's the plural for Penis is it Peni? I could google it but what's the point in knowing everything? Call me bitter but I kind of miss the old days when the option of finding out was a bit more difficult and I didn't have to be exposed for being too lazy to type into a search box. Shit I've given myself away it's not Carrie Bradshaw it's me Babak Ganjei. I'm just a guy with a laptop and the Sex And The City theme tune on loop for inspiration. So anyway I got to thinking if the only place I ever go is the Supermarket what can I do to make myself look interesting to the opposite sex (you notice I used the word “interesting” as opposed to attractive. I'm just happy to be of interest). So let me try and impart you with some useful advice to help you in the art of potentially picking up a suitor while getting some food (this is the small print just to warn you nothing that follows has so far led to anything you could call success).You're already fighting a losing battle with the shopping basket under your arm, it's not exactly manly, unless of course if your comfortable in your own skin, in which case everything you do looks self assured and simple and congratulations to you for that.

The first thing you do before you go to Sainsbury's is bath. You're a single parent now(you might not be) and you're not going to go anywhere else(this only applies if your a single parent), so if this is the only place someone is going to see you, you may as well look clean. The supermarket is a great place to pretend you are in total control of your life. Each item can speak volumes about your character which is why it's important to only buy things you don't want to eat. It's probably a good idea to spend as much time as possible in the fruit sections. If you buy lots of fruits people will presume you have a blender and that you are going to make smoothies. How else are you going to get through all that fruit? It can do you no harm to be regarded as a smoothie maker, it's the sign of an aspirational healthy focused mind. Make sure your vegetables are bright and vibrant and you have a good range of colour. People may not instantly appreciate it but it indicates a strong artistic eye, and a sense of style and that shouldn't be taken for granted. Now make sure your noticed looking at the herbs. Not the small little bags of herbs which are already more herbs than you need but the annoying to carry plants in a pot. This will show a commitment to real cooking, and not just microwaving which is another form of cooking. Make sure you get your face in their and smell the thing so you have an inkling what it is you are buying. Once you have your herb pot and your kilos of fruits and veg make sure you parade yourself around a little so people appreciate what it is you have done.

Now it's important you know exactly what you need to be seen buying from this point on and do it in a linear fashion. No turning back on yourself. If you have realised you forgot the capers silently curse to yourself and accept capers are now for another time. You don't want to be seen traipsing around dazed and confused in the store. You are in control. Pick up a baguette as opposed to regular sliced bread. It will instantly give the impression of a more open minded well travelled being. It also has a more powerful suggestive shape. However when picking out the baguette don't attach it to your crotch and pretend it's your penis. If you can't resist the joke, it's best to avoid making eye contact with anybody and giving them a thumbs up. Connoisseurs of this move will tell you it's much funnier with something of colour anyway, an Aubergine, or a courgette, for ultimate subtlety perhaps a fine green bean. Now storm on and pick out some soft cheese, it doesn't matter what as long as it is not Brie that is too obvious, perhaps something with a vein in it.

Dips are important, they suggest a more relaxed approach to feeding yourself, a bit more tapas and a little less Steak House. However what dip can be tricky and needs to be chosen with care. Houmous has been reclaimed by the Graphic Designer market and you don't really want to go there. The Cheese and Chive one offers no real sophistication, and Guacamole suggests you might be having a frat party. I would suggest you go for a small jar of black olive tapenade. People don't seem to know what it is, it comes in a glass jar and is small. For some reason all these things are a positive. Perhaps have a wander into the pet food section and pick out a dog toy, it won't hurt to be regarded as someone who may potentially have a puppy. You can go for a cat toy if you prefer, but dogs seem to be more affectionate and you want to create an image in people's minds of you sitting with your puppy licking your face as you are trying to dip a celery stick into a little black jar while trying to read the new Jonathan Franzan novel. Now i'm not a lady so I can't vouch for them but I'm presuming this image is a step in the right direction for you. Although it is worth remembering that if you do achieve any success with this operation make sure you hide the collection of dog toys you have amassed on previous trips. You will look weird enough having bought just the one when it is clear you don't actually have a dog.

When you get to the refrigerated sections it is important not to get caught out checking your hairline at the mirrored bits on the end. It's probably in the same position as when you left the house fifteen minutes ago. However if you find you have in fact gone back a couple of inches since you set off drop the basket and run across the road, there is a Herbal Inn situated there waiting for this exact moment of crisis. Though seriously, as I said before this rarely happens. Probably nine out of ten times you will get back from the supermarket looking the same as you did when you left the house. The supermarket is not your bathroom which is the ideal place to lock away your vanity, so DO NOT treat it as one. This is also why you should move as quickly as possible through the toiletries aisle. Make sure you look like you know exactly what you want, throw it in your basket and move on. Looking decisive will suggest you have a thoroughly well planned hygiene programme. Spending ten minutes comparing zesty lime shower gel over relaxing eucalyptus ones suggests your bathing is reserved for special occasions.You don't need any of them just one giant white bar of soap, now head straight to the alcohol. This should really be your last stop. Ok so you don't have anything of note to eat in your basket but that's ok your here to make a statement. Now disregard beer from the off, we are only really interested in picking out wine, you will earn respect with your knowledge of grapes . The safest way to look like you know what you are doing is to make sure you are caught picking up the most expensive bottle on the shelf. Before you get to the checkout you can replace it with the wine in the mega deal. No one will remember the label, but they will remember your dedication to good wine and willingness to invest. In no way get tempted into going for the multi buy deal. Being a wino is a turn off, you can pick some more up on the way home and there is no point ruining all your good work so far to save a few pounds.

You should now have a basket laden with all the things people want to see from you, if you have done this correctly the basket will be too heavy to carry and you are now kicking it towards the check out. Take a glance at whose behind you in the que before admitting to having a loyalty card. Sometimes it's good to look disloyal. Pay and leave with your head held up. Once home unpack the bags if you want. Pace around until you've hit an appropriate time to open the wine. Ten paces around should do it. Think back about all your good work, how you went out there and gave a good account of yourself and that over an accumulated period this will pay off dividends. Once the wine is drank celebrate by remembering it's wednesday and you can still get a two for one deal on eighteen inch “Meat Packer” pizzas from the local pizza delivery. It's ok if no one can see you it never really happened.

An Essay about The Flaming Lips to plug a gig by Wet Paint( no it isn't a smart tactic)

2011-07-06T11:10:00.000-07:00

Last year I was very excited to see the reformed Pavement play at Brixton Academy, The last time I'd seen them was about ten years before. It was at the same venue, it turned out to be their last gig but I think I was busy trying to light a cigarette when the final show announcement took place, and just presumed the power of the song “Here” was in itself enough to have the 4,000 crowd all leave in a mournful state. I read about the split four days later in the NME and thought “hang on I was there”. So this time it was nice to see them and end it knowing exactly what was going on. However as much fun as it was to be transported to my youth and reconnect with that feeling when the songs were new there was no real excitement because the story of that band and those songs had already been told. I think that is my problem with a lot of these nostalgic gigs, I understand that for a younger generation it may offer an opportunity to witness something that wasn't considered possible, but if you were there the first time perhaps you should be grateful you witnessed that history when it was being made and move on. I'm writing this of course because I've booked a gig on the night Of the Flaming Lips, Dinosaur Jr, Deerhoof show, which I feel I should be at and with your help I'm trying to convince myself it will be rubbish. “OOOh you've booked a show?” I hear you ask, well “yes” is the answer. I run a label with two friends called Records Records Records and we turn one in July and we have this show coming up...

Wet Paint

Underground Railroad

Wonderswan

Friday 1^st July

Shacklewell Arms, 71 shacklewell Lane

Good I'm glad I got that in this is essentially a giant plug for this show and for a second there I couldn't work out how to shoehorn it in. Now back to the memories...

The first time I saw The Flaming lips was at the first Bowlie Weekender. It was the Belle and Sebastien one. I wasn't a massive fan of Belle and Sebastien though at the time my older wiser girlfriend was, and some of their songs had and still have a massive significance for me. Not so much however to prevent me from wanting to punch someone in the face after three days of duffle coats and lunch boxes,watching the Divine Comedy. Now if you know me I'm not a violent person, but I think I'd hit my twee quota for one weekend. Thank God for the respite that was Jon Spencer's Blues Explosion and Sleater Kinney, and of course The Flaming Lips.

I'd discovered the band a year or so before. I'd bought their album Clouds Taste Metallic on cd from Bournemouth's HMV at an import price of fifteen pounds. In those days it cost a lot to import things to Bournemouth. Hopefully they've sorted that out. I hadn't heard it, I didn't have a clue what to expect, but the name sounded cool and the band on the cover looked cool and I had a feeling it was underground enough to look cool in front of the girl behind the counter who I had a feeling was friends of a girl I thought I fancied. I bought it very much hoping that knowledge of the purchase would spread and cool points would be scored. This is very much my pulling style, planting a seed sitting back and waiting for nothing to happen. Almost a hundred percent of the time it doesn't work, but that's advice for a different article.

The Bowlie weekender was part of the tour that was being used to preview material from The Soft Bulletin. Perhaps two hundred people had squeezed into the smallest room at Camber Sands to see them. It was confusing the first twenty minutes seemed to comprise of playing bits of songs synching up visuals on a small projector, lining up different puppets, and playing songs from start to finish, only to be asked by Wayne Coyne to pretend none of that had been seen. It turned out that was the soundcheck.They reappeared five minutes later to open the set with Race For The Prize, the song they had only just left the stage having played. Yet somehow the 32” projector screen giant gong and props and the sheer enthusiasm on stage created something magical as if it hadn't been seen or done before. This was the beginning of what would become the show that is the greatest birthday party for everyone ever.

Me and my friend Lewis left that tiny room in awe, or at least I was in awe of what a band

could do, It may have at the time looked a bit like a Harry Hill stage show but a little fake blood a ballad sung by a puppet of a nun and a giant gong seemed to add such a wild new dynamic to a live show that made the Ac Acoustics look limp and pedestrian. I have to say as an album the crazy guitars of Clouds Taste Metallic win me over everytime but the ambition or heartfelt intent of those lo-fi special effects shows will stick around forever.

(perhaps this ending is a bit twee but I have a pub date now)

I don't mind if this gets printed leave this in...I have nothing to hide

See you all tomorrow x